Then she sang. What passed between them I cannot think—I dare not. She would be surrendering to all her impulses—particularly the good impulses—many of which society had condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble. The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice.
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