" "Let me touch you, then; let me feel if you are really flesh and blood," cried the poor maniac, creeping towards him on all fours. You are wedged in amongst a crowd, perhaps in the promenade, you lean over the back, you are almost out of sight. “You are the most perfect, the most glorious of created things—tender, frank intellectual, brave, beautiful. It did seem germane to the matter that so many of the people “in the van” were plain people, or faded people, or tired-looking people. .
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