The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. She turned quickly. Her aunt leaped unhappily to the thought of penitence. It was a bogus affair altogether, kept by some blackguard or other of an Englishman. “If you speak—farewell.
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