" "You paint yourself worse than you are, dear Mrs. ” She said. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. ’ *** It must have been fate, Gerald decided, near an hour later, staring intently at the closed French windows on the raised alcove that led out to the terrace. \"I'm going to his baseball game, he's pitching for Lincoln, and then I believe he is taking me to dinner. ’ ‘Think Valade will come back here then?’ ‘Melusine thinks so,’ Gerald said, pausing at the top of the stairs. " Spurlock closed his eyes.
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