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 one with a rose, and that supreme touch of satire, the shelves of colored glass across the windows, shutting out the view."

"You're a very penetrating person. Most people take that room perfectly seriously."

"And you let them, and laugh at them behind their backs. Christabel, you're a little devil!"

Christabel! He called me Christabel! First, Mrs. Carey. Then, for a long time, you. Now, at last, Christabel.

Nick! Nick!

And she suddenly flung out her arms, she cried, her voice enchanting in its sincerity: "I can hardly bear it! I can't bear it! I'm so happy!"

"Why?"

She couldn't say, because you called me Christabel. And although the breeze, bringing a drift of fragrance, the tender grass, a quivering butterfly, had a lot to do with it when she came to think, those were not the things she and Nick talked about together in their clear