The thought of the picture but added to her despondency. “I don’t know much about the technique of music,” he said at last, with his eyes upon her. She paced restlessly to the door and back again, biting her tongue on the hot words begging to be uttered. I have calculated my chances, you perceive. To-morrow I shall come and talk to you again—of other things. It was a refusal of expediency, he said, and not an absolute refusal. Then it dawned.
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