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. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes. ‘Her own,’ Gerald replied. The darkness was almost palpable; and the wind which, hitherto, had been blowing in gusts, was suddenly lulled.
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