It was still raining heavily, and profoundly dark. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. Next to the executioner stood his wife—the former Mrs. Teddy Widgett hovered on the fringe of all these gatherings, blinking at Ann Veronica and occasionally making a wildly friendly dash at her, and carrying her and Miss Miniver off to drink cocoa with a choice diversity of other youthful and congenial Fabians after the meetings.
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