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‘I beg your pardon?’ said Gerald. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. Free! All the fine ecstasy, without the numbing terror. Fancy, as they say hereabouts!" What had aroused this open-air monologue was a small tin sign in a window. “You fill me with happiness, John. ‘My dear boy, your loyalty is misplaced. " "What does it signify?" returned the latter, angrily. Even now I do not understand.
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