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She watched the captain tuck the pistol back in his pocket, and perch on the edge of the big desk. A silver necklace enhanced the dusky beauty of her neck. 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. “There is my aunt,” she said. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www. Not then. She made a quick movement, and the hand fell away. As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation.
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