Already she had sent him twenty pounds, and never written to explain to him why it was she had not sent it back sharply directly he returned it. 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. “Good evening, Dorling,” he said.
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