” Annabel moistened her dry lips with a handkerchief steeped in eau de Cologne. "What has put it into your head that your son yet lives?" he asked. ” She rolled over on her face, and stuffed her fingers in her ears to shut out the rhythm from her mind. ‘It is not your affair. Anyhow, she’s disappeared for some reason or other. As concertmaster, it was Lucy’s duty to seat the orchestra as well as tune them.
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