“Mary!” He whispered loudly. She had started wearing the dresses he bought for her, the white and blue shift he said, “brings out the color in your eyes”. "May I beg to know whom I've the pleasure of adressing? Jackson, I conclude, is merely an assumed name. ’” She played “If I Were a Rich Man,” adding syrupy trills and flourishes at every phrase. 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. “But if my manner tells! I cannot help it if that shows. Brendon always comes home with me, and tonight both are away. It seemed as if each time her imagination reached out investingly, an invisible lash beat it back. They had both been unsuccessful.
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