The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you. In Paris, in July, a raging mob had stormed the Bastille, provoking circumspect aristocrats to uproot themselves and take refuge abroad. Those were dreams. He had grabbed her in the stream, embracing her naked body tightly, running his hands over her breasts and clutching her buttocks.
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