Drink the toast, Jack. The natural gaiety of the place seemed to have affected them both. And Ritter’s, too, was very amusing and foreign and discreet; a little rambling room with a number of small tables, with red electric light shades and flowers. When she finished her last cadence, Carolyn and Thomas begged her to play encores. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion.
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