Let me put the main question to you now that I could not put the other afternoon. 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. Immediately Spurlock began to chant one of these. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. Just what in the world was that about? Before he could hazard a guess, Lucy looked back at him.
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