You will be—my wife. The wedding procession passed on, and the cynical rabble poured in behind. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. She meant to go, she meant to go, she meant to go. Ruth returned to the table. An ordinary type, of course—” Mrs. “How did you hear that?” Lucy’s brows knitted.
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