‘We was of an age, you see, miss. Bring me clothing, I beg of you. Old Bedlam. He depended upon her, for his medicine, for his drink, for the little amusement it was now permissible to give him. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. But anything is better than this.
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