On a high chair behind a raised counter the stipendiary’s substitute regarded her malevolently over his glasses. Afterwards was the most delightful part of all!. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph. " "I am a thief, nevertheless. A cold shiver ran through her frame, and her gentle spirit passed away for ever. Would you tell her … now?" his eyes flaming with mockery. That was something in his favour. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her.
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