Sir John, who was standing outside, looked past him at the girl still sitting in the shadow. From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty or a paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send her rushing on for something that never happened. She smiled mechanically at the audience, holding her violin limply, feeling the hot lights on her made-up face. This was in Texas. ” She paused, and he waited for her to speak. She was beauty, the key of magic, the teacher of spells, the predictor of wars, and the gate of the future. A fresh cool breeze blew in their faces. To even presume a lustful thought about her was to ask for one’s own death.
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