She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. That shining slope of snow, and how we talked of death! We might have died! Even when we are old, when we are rich as we may be, we won’t forget the tune when we cared nothing for anything but the joy of one another, when we risked everything for one another, when all the wrappings and coverings seemed to have fallen from life and left it light and fire. I cannot be intimate—’ stressing the word with a deep look ‘— with one I feel to be a stranger. Ralph. I hardly see you anymore.
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