Miss Stanley walked round the garden thinking, and presently house and garden reverberated to Ann Veronica’s slamming of the front door. ” “But I didn’t lose it that way, did I?” She grew hysterical. "Where is he?" asked Jonathan. His slightest move caused her infinite pleasure. Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. " "Silly love stories?" "No; love wasn't the theme. And then scratched it out and wrote instead, “Gérard”. He was only a younger son, and you know what trouble we had. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music.
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