“I imagine,” Sir John said, “that your sister would acquaint him with it. She turned them down and gently placed the violin back in its red fake fur lined chamber. She reached a tiny yellow-fronted cottage covered with flowering creepers, and entered the front room by the wide-open window. He had his sections of the Siegfried map folded in his pocket, and he squatted up with his legs crossed like an Indian idol while she lay prone beside him and followed every movement of his indicatory finger.
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