Into that
chasm a moment later, stones, rails, anarchists, and soldiers fell,
leaving nothing but a thick cloud of overhanging dust. Underneath that
great dun pall lay soldier and anarchist, side by side, at last at
peace. The one died for his duty, the other died for his idea. The world
was none the better, but went on unchanged.
CHAPTER LVII
HAPPINESS
The evening on which Peter had left Grey-Court, Leonore had been moved
"for sundry reasons" to go to her piano and sing an English ballad
entitled "Happiness." She had song it several times, and with gusto.
The next morning she read the political part of the papers. "I don't see
anything to have taken him back," she said "but I am really glad, for he
was getting hard to manage. I couldn't send him away, but now I hope
he'll stay there." Then Leonore fluttered all day, in the true Newport
style, with no apparent thought of her "friend."
But something at a dinner that evening interested her.
"I'm ashamed," said the hostess, "of my shortage of men.
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