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The singer leaned back against the cushions She was very tired The opera

that night had taxed her strength, and but for her prouests for double the fee There was an

electric bulb in the car She rarely turned it on, but she did to-night

She gazed into the little mirror; and utter weariness looked back from out

the most beautiful, blue, Irish eyes in the world She rubbed her fingers

carefully up and down the faint perpendicular wrinkle above her nose It

was always there on nights like this How she longed for the season to

end! She would fly away to the lakes, the beautiful, heavenly tinted

lakes, the bare restfulunder

brave old trees; she would walk along the vineyard paths, and loiter under

the fig-trees, far, far away fro jealousies Soood-by

to all the clatter, the evil-ses, the impossible people with

who only to those she loved

The gla on because she had

acquired costly habits, because she was fond of beautiful things, and

above all, because she loved to sing She had as many moods as a bird, as

many sides as nature A flash of sunshine called to her voice; the beads

of water, treht a song to her lips Hers was a God-given voice, and training had

added to it nothing but confidence True, she could act; she had been told

by reat irand

opera But the knowledge gave her no thrill of delight To her it was the

suht and closed her eyes She reclined against the