She is no longer mine; she is yours. A few minutes later Sir John left the room. Afterwards, it may be different. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. At last some anodyne formed itself from these exercises, and, with eyelashes wet with such feeble tears as only three-o’clock-in-the-morning pathos can distil, she fell asleep.
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