"The nurses," she answered. I'll be wanting my sixteen thousand. You wish another name? Eh bien. There was a pause, while the steel grey eyes sliced at her. If you desire to please me, you will go. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous.
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