But they did what they could for her. “Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse. "Is it poison?" she asked. She had never been to the opera before except as one of a congested mass of people in the cheaper seats, and with backs and heads and women’s hats for the frame of the spectacle; there was by contrast a fine large sense of space and ease in her present position. We are in love. The palanquin is hired and so is the procession.
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