It was you who were so much amazed that I did not try—the music hall stage here. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. . Here was the corner-stone of a capital story; but he knew that Howard Spurlock would never write it. Hill sat up on the pavement and mopped the blood from his cheek. 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.
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