What else was there lurked in shadows and deep places; if in some mood of reverie it came out into the light, it was presently overwhelmed and hustled back again into hiding. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. She reads novels—and history—and all sorts of things. “I will come—with pleasure,” she said, “if you will promise to treat me as a new acquaintance—not to refer to—Paris—at all.
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