According to Lucilla, this comtesse had constituted herself something of a social leader in the rapidly growing assemblage of refugees, and would undoubtedly be ready to introduce an eligible bachelor appropriately. He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere. That—that isn’t living! You are beside yourself. I will be as silent as the grave. The ambitions of his life, and they were many, seemed to lie far away, broken up dreams in some outside world where the way was rough and the sky always grey.
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