CHAPTER XXXI. didn’t have to. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. You get this queer irascible musician quite impossibly and unfortunately in love with a wealthy patroness, and then out of his brain comes THIS, a tapestry of glorious music, setting out love to lovers, lovers who love in spite of all that is wise and respectable and right. ‘That is the man who tries to kill me, but he wounded instead my servant. “I think,” she said, “that I would rather not have anything to say about that man.
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