’ The lady hesitated a moment, her eyes seeming to measure the distance between where he stood and the door. It was easy to discern Gianfrancesco’s mood. “How could I, when your sister sings now at the ‘Unusual’ every night and the name ‘Alcide’ flaunts from every placard in London?” “The likeness between us,” she said, “before I began to disfigure myself with rouge and ill-dressed hair, was remarkable. The quarry had passed out into the open sea. If it was not an actual personal lover, it still might be the lover not yet incarnate, not yet perhaps suspected.
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