She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. But indeed that is not at all a good description of her attitude. Very dark, like yours, ma’am. I don’t think I’ve got illusions, nor you. Running his hand carefully over it in search of the lock, he perceived to his dismay that it was fastened on the other side. She had always had a wonderful ear for phrasing, even back in the days of the viol.
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