This is a good piano. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. The vestry door opened to the mews behind, and not to Golden Square. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. He poured a pinch of tobacco into his palm and sniffed. She wedged the towel between her legs.
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