"I suppose it didn't drop through the ceiling, did it? Are you quite sure it's flesh and blood?" asked he, playfully pinching its arm till it cried out with pain. He had heard me sing—the fool thought himself in love with me. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. ‘I have justice. Well, one must hope, that was all. The slight smile that played upon Winifred's lips seemed to say that she was not quite so sure. They came from every part, from the pit, the circle and the gallery, even from the stalls. The Master listened, with becoming attention, to the narrative, and, at its conclusion, shook his head gravely, applied his thumb to the side of his nose, and, twirling his fingers significantly, winked at his phlegmatic companion.
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