The Phantom of the Opera

the forget–me–not eyes, the rose–red cheeks and the lily–white neck and shoulders

the girl with the tip–tilted nose, the forget–me–not eyes, the rose–red cheeks and the lily–white neck and shoulders

"Your soul is a beautiful thing, child,"

the wretched woman who had come to the Opera for the first time in her life, the one whom M. Richard had appointed to succeed Mme. Giry, the ghost’s box–keeper, in her functions! She died on the spot and, the next morning, a newspaper appeared with this heading:
TWO HUNDRED KILOS ON THE HEAD OF A CONCIERGE
That was her sole epitaph!

MY DEAR LITTLE PLAYFELLOW:
You must have the courage not to see me again, not to speak of me again. If you love me just a little, do this for me, for me who will never forget you, my dear Raoul. My life depends upon it. Your life depends upon it. YOUR LITTLE CHRISTINE.

So it is to be war between us?
If you still care for peace, here is my ultimatum.

I remembered all that Christine had told me of the Angel of Music. The air was The Resurrection of Lazarus, which old M. Daae used to play to us in his hours of melancholy and of faith. If Christine’s Angel had existed, he could not have played better, that night, on the late musician’s violin.

"Well, Christine, I think that somebody is making game of you."

Imagine my astonishment when you told me, this morning, that you could hear him too."
Raoul burst out laughing.

He smiled at the thought and then suddenly gave a start. A voice behind him said:
"Do you think the Korrigans will come this evening?"
It was Christine. He tried to speak. She put her gloved hand on his mouth.