167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. " "So do I!" she cried; "for then you would have been really my brother. He fancied that when they had had time to reflect, they would regret it still more. She went to a dramatic agent, and he turned out to be the one who had heard me sing in Paris.
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