That same adventurousness that had already buoyed her through crises that would have overwhelmed any normally feminine girl with shame and horror now became uppermost again. She smiled mechanically at the audience, holding her violin limply, feeling the hot lights on her made-up face. ’ ‘From a convent? Even if I wished to do it, I could not. The latter took from his pocket a small note-book and pencil. ‘Your mystery lady, I mean. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. She was by his side. For I still love her mother.
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