Then she passed from the room on the arm of General Lord Charvill, chatting animatedly to him. She descended the stairs, and found herself at last in the street—alone. But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only the sensation of exaltation. And the fact that it was dressed in riding gear had fooled her into thinking it was her own image. The sense of publicity, of people coming and going about them, kept them both unemotional. She herself, and one other there, recognized the interposition of something akin to tragedy. “Certainly her voice is far more musical.
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