” “Well, perhaps it is a bit depressing. ” She said fretfully. “In Paris. 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. What is there?” “Tristan. The hour for which, presumably, she had been created was drawing nigh.
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