The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. I can't concentrate on my work. “Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself. There's something queer about that young man; but we'll never be able to find out what it is. 1. ” “He was probably right,” she declared.
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