The comtesse always felt Madame Valade to be not of her class, of course. His interest was divided: while his ears drank in the sounds, his glance constantly roved from Ruth to the performer and back to Ruth. "As it's getting late, and the porter may be gone to bed," he observed; "I'll take the pass-key, and let myself in. The minute he discovers Roding here, he’ll know something is up. “Oh my God! You sounded like my Grandma just now! How did you do that?” He asked, shocked.
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