Her eyes where glassy and shining. These were presently joined by a regiment of foot. “He’s a Fellow of the Royal Society, and he can’t be much over thirty,” said Miss Klegg. “Forgive me,” he decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and he laid his hand on hers upon her knee. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. ‘You don’t know the whole, child.
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