” And she pressed her lips together in white resolution and nodded, and she was manifestly full of that same passion for conflict and selfsacrifice that has given the world martyrs since the beginning of things. After the dance, they went to a party. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. She told her husband that she wished her nothing more than her own death. They had been married for well over one hundred years. ‘You, Mademoiselle Charvill, are as unlike most of your sex as you can be.
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