“How dared you do yourself this injustice?” “I did it for her sake,” she answered. A very familiar face emerged from a crowd at the impromptu bar on the kitchen island. The white haze of poison clouded her eyes. “How could I, when your sister sings now at the ‘Unusual’ every night and the name ‘Alcide’ flaunts from every placard in London?” “The likeness between us,” she said, “before I began to disfigure myself with rouge and ill-dressed hair, was remarkable. That was life.
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