Purney, the ordinary, who had latterly conceived a great regard for Jack, addressed him in a discourse, which, while it tended to keep alive his feelings of penitence, was calculated to afford him much consolation. "It was the story of a man, so to speak, who had left his vitals in his native land and wandered strange paths emptily. But I’m always trying to make things happen. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. “I loathe afternoon concerts, and——” She was really like her sister he thought, impressed for a moment by the soft brilliancy of her smile.
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