Through all he said ran one quality that pleased her—the quality of a man who feels that things can be done, that one need not wait for the world to push one before one moved. “You cannot give me ultimatums. . I didn’t understand. I have very few friends in Paris. Drink this!” He poured out a glass of wine with a firm hand, and held it to her lips. She had even played in an opera by Verdi once, but had to dress as a boy to do it. Every movable mirror had been placed here, to discourage vanity, and since no whitewash covered the brocaded purple wallpaper, its pervasive hue gave an added sense of heaviness to the crowded chamber.
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