We looked upon you, my dear Sir John, with reverence, almost with awe. “Don’t be a hypocrite. She had started wearing the dresses he bought for her, the white and blue shift he said, “brings out the color in your eyes”. It was the size of my palm. Flesh and blood, vivid, alluring; she was no longer the symbol, therefore she had become, as in the twinkling of an eye, an utter stranger. "Don't fire," cried the latter. She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. When I'm alone I don't mind.
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