In this room was my ruin begun: in this room it should be ended. She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside. You're a friend of the young man?" "If you mean did I know him before he became ill, no. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. " "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy.
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