He was halfway across the ballroom, where the dancing had ceased for the musicians to take a well-earned rest, when Roding pounced on him. “You are absurd,” she declared. She had found that proof. If they had any idea the concerts he had seen, they would have known the quality of her playing. They set about everyone—everyone. I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua.
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