He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. "Thank you, Mrs. I leaned over and looked at him—he was quite still. " "There are bad stories, then, just as there are bad people?" "Yes. ‘What is the matter?’ ‘Is there nothing you do not know?’ she asked faintly. There was a new softness in her eyes, a hesitation, a timidity about her manner which was almost pathetic. " The lad made no answer, but left the room.
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