He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold. Upon my word—you are Miss Pellissier, aren’t you?” “I certainly am,” she admitted. This "fatal retreat for the unfortunate brave" was marked by a low wooden railing, within which stood the triple tree. He seated himself before it.
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