Blood dripped down one side of her forehead. The confirmed drunkard's mouth at length sets itself peculiarly; it becomes the mark by which thoughtful men know him. 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.
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