And Suzanne, even that she has behaved to me not at all like a mother, would also not have said. Somewhere, where we can talk without interruption. She had nothing to say for herself. She took the tray with both hands, gulped, and gave way to tears. They stopped talking, except to each other. The entire city seemed to exist for beauty and art alone. And now I find, when it is too late, that I might have deserved you—that I am as well born as Thames Darrell. I love some one else.
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