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Walpole, Hugh, Sir, 1884-1941

"The Secret City"

I and Marie and Vera and Nina and Markovitch--our love for
you, your love for us, our courage, our self-sacrifice, our weakness,
our defeat, our progress--these are the things for which life exists;
it exists as a training-ground for the immortal soul...."
With a sweep of colour the stage broke into a mist of movement. Masked
and hooded figures in purple and gold and blue and red danced madly off
into a forest of stinking, sodden leaves and trees as thin as
tissue-paper burnt by the sun. "Oh--aye! oh--aye! oh--aye!" came from
the wounded, and the dancers answered, "Tra-la-la-la! Tra-la-la-la,'"
The golden screens were drawn forward, the lights were up again, and the
whole theatre was stirring like a coloured paper ant heap.
Outside in the foyer I found Lawrence at my elbow.
"Go and see her," he whispered to me, "as soon as possible! Tell
her--tell her--no, tell her nothing. But see that she's all right and
let me know. See her to-morrow--early!"
I could say nothing to him, for the Baron had joined us.
"Good-night! Good-night! A most delightful evening!... Most amusing!...
No, thank you, I shall walk!"
"Come and see us," said the Baroness, smiling.


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