The clock struck half-past ten. "Either he or you must return with me," answered Jonathan. It was her past now, not Annabel’s. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. No umbrella either, the sky was delightfully overcast. The manager, however, who stood in the wings, nodded to her to proceed, and the orchestra commenced the first few bars of the music.
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