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The afternoon had passed now into twilight. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. I've told you about him; and you wrote a shrewd yarn on the subject. ” He took them out and showed her. "You!" cried Jack, scornfully. Too damned chickenhearted to confess to me he’d run off with the woman. It was a bright and beautiful day: so bright, so beautiful, that even her sad heart was cheered by it.
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