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 came to her and stood before her, waiting, the morning light dazzling his eyes. The thought had not even occurred to him. She was sorry to find Ramage a little disposed to be melancholy. And by degrees, perhaps, that maiden distrust of yours that makes you shrink from my kisses, will vanish.
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