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Updated: June 1, 2025
"You know what your refusal implies?" he questioned, more gently than he had yet spoken. "You refused some time ago to carry a message. You will perhaps remember that I gave you the choice between doing as you were told, or " he gesticulated expressively. "You were wise then. I hope you will be wise now." Arithelli's thoughts were going at racing speed.
Without love she might have allowed herself to be blindfolded as many other women are, by ambition, or money, or intellect. "La vie est vaine, Un peu d'amour, Un peu de haine, Et puis bon jour." In the process of Arithelli's convalescence, comedy fought for place with tragedy.
Once again they kissed and clung together. Though Arithelli's lips burnt, they scorched with the fires of despair rather than with those of passion. In silence Vardri helped her to her feet, and they walked together to the door. "You'll come to me to-morrow," Arithelli said.
With masculine thoughtlessness Emile had set the candle close beside the bed, where it flared full into Arithelli's eyes. They were wide open now. The look of desperation had faded, and there was in them only the appeal of one human being to another for help and sympathy. "Eh, bien, Fatalité?" She shifted her position wearily and stretched out her hands towards him, murmuring, "Je veux dormir."
Arithelli's long limbs appeared nymphlike in her plain blue high-waisted gown of Emile's choosing, that had no superfluous bow or trimming, and left free her beauty of outline. She possessed no jewellery now wherewith to deck herself, and there was no trace of artificial red on face and lips.
For an instant he felt almost inclined to expostulate on Arithelli's behalf, but the Manager's rages were well known to his employes, and the little man had no intention of losing his present position. He flung down his long whip, and retired muttering vengeance. The Manager strode into the centre of the ring, picked up the lash and drew it through his fingers.
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