She smiled mechanically at the audience, holding her violin limply, feeling the hot lights on her made-up face. Her voice shook, her eyes were very soft and melting. He stood still, almost breathless. She mounted the stairs of the theatrical agent’s office with very much less than her usual buoyancy, nor did she find much encouragement in the general appearance of the room into which she was shown. Journeying blindly half way across the world, this man had found his quarry. “He dissembles,” he said. She could not risk going in the door, lest she run into Larry or Cathy drinking a nocturnal glass of milk or Mike raiding the refrigerator for snacks. “Don’t befool me any more,” he answered, almost roughly. " The shock of hearing this title pronounced was equally distributed between Ruth and her husband; but it aroused two absolutely different emotions. ‘You are jealous!’ ‘Yes,’ he agreed simply.
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