"Take off these chains, Rowland," said Lady Trafford, "instantly, I command you. Not that he deliberately courted danger; it was rather the searcher, seeking analysis, the why and wherefore of this or that invading emotion. She was always the last person to exit after the crowds had stampeded, trailing slowly behind them like dust. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. ‘Léonore, then?’ She shook her head animatedly, enjoying his attention. A great bowl of scarlet carnations gleamed from a dark corner, set against the background of a deep brown wall. He met her eyes with his fiery black gaze.
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