There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. She regarded him coldly, as though wondering whether he had anything further to say. He had not taken many steps when he perceived Quilt Arnold in the upper gallery, with a lamp in his hand. Gerald at once lowered his voice to that intimate level again, and leaned towards her. ‘But for now, I’m taking you home. “To the best of my belief,” she said, with quiet dignity, “I have never seen either of you before in my life. A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY.
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