Her thought spoke aloud. She stabbed him with her canines. " There had never been, from that fatal hour eight months gone down to this, the inclination to confess. 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. Then her fingers moved. The period of repression was over. Wood was dressed with more than ordinary care, and in more than ordinary finery.
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