I worship you. A wild passion of shame and self-disgust swept over her. 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. " "He's let out for a few hours," laughed Kneebone; "but he's going back again after supper. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. .
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