” She laid her hand softly upon his. ” She replied with a rehearsed answer, “I was told that my real mother died the day I was born. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. Shortly afterwards,—it seemed an age to the anxious mother,—Mr. . ” “It ought to make one happy.
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