She was gone. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly. He was there concealed, waiting her return. It seems to me just talk; it seems to me like the fancy of a dream. "Is there anything wrong with it?" "Wrong? Why, you have been imposed upon somewhere. I will lay them all at your feet. 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.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDEzLjU5LjI0Ny43NSAtIDMwLTA2LTIwMjQgMDY6NDg6MDAgLSAyMDE2Mjg1MTcy
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