There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. A sob was strangled in her throat. People had started filling the hall: instrumentalists, overly conscientious parents. " "Are you friendly toward him?" asked McClintock, passing a fine cigar across the table. The stage manager came out from the wings, and taking her hand led her off. "Take her," cried Jonathan; and, flinging the now inanimate body of the poor widow, who had fainted in the struggle, into the arms of Thames, he leapt through the window, and by the time the latter could consign her to Wood, and dart after him, he had disappeared. Which, if we are not all of us very careful indeed, will be stolen from Miss Charvill.
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