“If I were to marry now,” she said, “it would be with a sense of humiliation. Papillon would have broken him down; anything tender would have sapped his will; and like as not he would have left the stool and rushed into the night. But her mind was ruffled, and its mirror-like surface of satisfaction was not easily restored. . It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. She smiled mechanically at the audience, holding her violin limply, feeling the hot lights on her made-up face. Suppose he stopped all her allowance, made it imperative that she should either stay ineffectually resentful at home or earn a living for herself at once. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. The pistol fell to the floor. “Please forgive me, Lucy.
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