He had not thought to find a lady so ready of humour and willing to give him a hearing. You never can go back. He had been for months without music of the character he loved—and he dared not play any of it! McClintock, after the music began, left the piano and sat in a corner just beyond the circle of light cast by the lamp. “Anna,” she moaned, “I am a jealous, ungrateful woman. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths.
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