"And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. Once upon a time she and Roddy had descended thence by the drain-pipe. Snatching-up his pistols, he rushed to the door, but to his horror found it fastened. 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. Upon what this instinct was based she could not say; she was conscious only of its insistence. The Old Mint III.
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