On the fifth day he had ventured speech with her. CHAPTER XIII. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. She had even played in an opera by Verdi once, but had to dress as a boy to do it. He wore a long coat, beautifully flowered, and a hat with a turned up brim. She let go of him and stood up, straightening herself. Believe me, the bitterness of it has almost departed, crushed out of me together with much of the weariness and sorrow I brought with me here by the nameless glory of these lonely months. She glanced into his face.
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