How dare you use my name and sing my songs?” Anna looked at her sister in blank amazement. ” Horace, the manservant, transformed now into the semblance of a correctly garbed waiter, threw open the door. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea. From the further end of the apartment came the low music of a violin. Were any thing to happen to him, Newgate wouldn't be what it is, nor Tyburn either. It seemed to them they could never have been really alive before, but only dimly anticipating existence.
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