There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. Love is a great thing, and happiness a joy. For that my father so stupide was in love with this Suzanne Valade, is it not?’ ‘Well, miss,’ temporised Mrs Ibstock, ‘we didn’t rightly know that then. Anna stood on the step and looked up and down the street for a hansom.
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