‘There were the Comte and Comtesse de St Erme. Pennsylvania Dutch. The idea that he held in his arms the girl whom he had once so passionately loved, and for whom he still retained an ardent but hopeless attachment, almost overcame him. Such ambitions as he had were stereotyped and material. A pair of startled blue eyes looked up into his. When my father died, and we were left alone in Jersey, I was quite a long time deciding whether I would go in for singing professionally or try painting.
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