The Night-Cellar. Last week. A little table covered with a damask cloth was dragged out. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. But I'll not believe it of you. ’ ‘What, a common soldier?’ ‘He was not a common soldier. ” She tried to sound convincing as she looked away hotly. " "We know it," cried several voices. She could not hide her face. He wisely refrained from questioning the manager of the Victoria.
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