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 had trouble outwitting him as he seemed to predict her words before he said them. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged. Nor, indeed, did she want to refuse.
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