At the present moment she was living in a world of her own creation, a carnival of brave men and fair women, characters out of the tales she had so newly read for the first time. ’ The expression on Emile Gosse’s face was vicious under the smile. She was faint from hunger, her head spinning into dizziness, the blood madness readying for battle. The inner apartment was rather gracefully furnished with a thick, fine Turkish carpet, a good brass fender, a fine old bureau, and on the walls were engravings of two young girls’ heads by Greuze, and of some modern picture of boys bathing in a sunlit pool. It does not work, I still suffer madness.
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