Stanley took the letter and stood with it in his hand thoughtfully for a time. He poured a pinch of tobacco into his palm and sniffed. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. 250 Michelle intercepted John before he reached the backstage entrance. She was taken dreadfully ill on the road, with spasms and short breath, and swoonings,—worse than ever she was before.
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