But his treasured dream lay shattered at his feet. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. ‘Comment? What do you say?’ Gerald looked down into her face, and found himself touched by the uncertainty he saw there. ” She came closer. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. " He smiled at her as he smiled at death, cheerfully.
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