Her roving eagerness was at all times shaded with shyness, reserve, repression. “We’ve never known anyone who can play like you, Lucy. Here, where every element of her surroundings was tawdry and commonplace, and before this young man of vulgar origin and appearance, it was striking. When she awoke she felt as if she were adrift on a soft cloud through a golden sky. He passed but a cursory glance over the formal certificate that identified the Frenchman before him as one André Valade, distant cousin to the Vicomte Valade.
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