A hazy face appeared through the fog of sleep, pale and thin and looming. ” “He seems like such a nice boy. There was nothing to be got out of the man. I have been stupid and foolish. You have been going out every morning, and coming home late—tired out—too tired to come down to dinner. 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. “Don’t bunch too much as you come out,” she added. She forbade him to escape to his workshop in the basement during those times, denying him his one and only hobby. “For me,” Manning went on, “this isn’t final.
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