“You wish me to stay?” he asked, in a low tone. He was Julian five years younger, the spitting image. She smiled mechanically at the audience, holding her violin limply, feeling the hot lights on her made-up face. She glanced towards her sister, and curiously enough found in her face some faint reflection of her own rather sombre mirth. There's something human about you now. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. E.
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