Melusine was loath to admit how much more lonely since Gerald chose not to visit her. A tinge of admiration rose in his breast. 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. “You silly wimmin,” he said over and over again throughout the hearing, plucking at his blotting-pad with busy hands.
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