She seemed tense when not playing, he noted, more so than she had during the first two pieces. Afterwards she hunted up the article in question, and it seemed to her quite delightfully written and argued. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. ’ Kimble’s widening gaze told its own tale, but still he kept his fingers on the handle of the door. And now her father said she must not go. Oh, I know. ” He struck a note, and Anna responded. She attacked his hair resolutely. Paris looms behind—a tragedy of strange recollections—here she emerges Phœnix-like, subtly developed, a flawless woman, beautiful, self-reliant, witty, a woman with the strange gift of making all others beside her seem plain or vulgar.
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