"
CHAPTER XIII. Why, is the
question I would like answered. John’s father added cheerfully, “So, do you play any
violin?”
She balked at the stereotype, but admitted, “Yes, I play
violin. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. “I believe she’s dressing up-stairs—now. You get this
queer irascible musician quite impossibly and unfortunately in love with a
wealthy patroness, and then out of his brain comes THIS, a tapestry of glorious
music, setting out love to lovers, lovers who love in spite of all that is wise and
respectable and right. . People always rejoice at the
misfortunes of others—never at their own! The droll dogs! how they must have
enjoyed it!—ha! ha!"
"I dare say they did. His suspicions at first fell upon you. There were words,
then, that ran on indefinitely, with reversals? Here they meant one thing; there,
the exact opposite. “What are you doing?” he asked. . She breathed
deeply. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand. ”
“Damn!” he remarked at the defaced letter; and, taking a fresh sheet, he
recopied what he had written.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 05-07-2024 02:32:51