‘Went to the dogs, did Jarvis, after Mary died. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. Diedermeyer, sweetheart? He just went in. The charm of innocence breathes around her, as fragrance is diffused by the flower, sanctifying her lightest thought and action, and shielding her, like a spell, from the approach of evil. “My arrival appears to be opportune,” he said stiffly.
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