I do not believe that there has ever lived a really great actress whose moral character from the ordinary point of view would bear inspection. She repeated phrases of Mrs. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. " "What do you mean, Sir?" asked Trenchard. “On the stage? Yes. But ——” A look checked him. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. There ends my duty.
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