” They were eating quails when they returned to the topic of love. “I like to think of your offer. As he pocketed it, her open palm reached out and slapped his cheek. Sometimes I try to talk. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald.
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