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. Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury. ‘I find you excessively rude, both of you,’ said the lady crossly. She slipped out the window, jumping to the ground from the second story with very little sound. ’ Emile reached out both hands and grasped her shoulders. You are your nephew's executioner, or he is yours.
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