C. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. It was that somebody had cheated you. A long shrill cat-call in the gallery seemed to be the signal. These persons were Mr. And, besides, she didn’t just immediately want to make her attempt. There was an air of repressed gaiety in her actions: the sense of freedom had returned; her heart was empty again. I want to make my own selection. I was certain of it. .
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