He drew a little breath and stepped back. We went our ways. But before the Grieg concerto was done, she knew that she was free. She realized in a moment what had happened. Not a word passed between them. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. But that, and that sort of thing, is just a day-dream. ‘Don’t rightly know how you make that out, you being a French spy and a prisoner and all.
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