There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. “Lucy, you have to play for us after dinner, oh please. It was a tale of battle, murder, and sudden death on the New York waterfront. All they left it was the moon and stars. ’ He slid slowly down and collapsed to the stone floor, fainting dead away. ’ Triumph soared in Gerald’s chest. But I will never—never return. ” He leaned back for his soup.
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