The comparisons upon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed with reality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction. He was always deceived by these rustlings which promised wind and seldom fulfilled that promise. “But, my dear!” said Ann Veronica’s aunt. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she panted, shifting wildly in his hold, so that he had all to do to keep her thus imprisoned. She mounted the stairs of the theatrical agent’s office with very much less than her usual buoyancy, nor did she find much encouragement in the general appearance of the room into which she was shown. Her soft brown eyes, inherited from Larry, warmed an already pretty face.
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