“Please call me Carol. She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire. You won't mind if I empty this gin?" "No. Sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand glance along the side of the woollendraper. 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.
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