" There was another pause. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. ‘Lord,’ he uttered, glancing about with a disparaging eye. Her mother missed writing for a week, and then she wrote in an unusual key. Ennison stood still for a moment, swinging his latchkey upon his finger. One called her very distinctly “My dear!” Two secretarial posts did indeed seem to offer themselves in which, at least, there was no specific exclusion of womanhood; one was under a Radical Member of Parliament, and the other under a Harley Street doctor, and both men declined her proffered services with the utmost civility and admiration and terror. "But what, may I ask, arouses the thought?" The doctor was in high good humour. It's almost incredible. The very blank, however, affected him more deeply than if it had been left. As for Mike’s observations on John’s desires to get laid, it was the pot calling the kettle black.
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