In all his life he had never realized a dream; but the thought had never before hurt him. There was no one to be seen. Nobody toys with me. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. Assessing him as harmless, she had remained friendly, albeit aloof. She found no ready reply to that, and he went on: “This music is the food of love.
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