She had made her way since then a little further into the heart of life. The agonized mother could scarcely repress a scream at the spectacle that met her gaze. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. Later, she understood his reasons; and it had now become habit. While the girl kept the patient from dwelling upon his misfortunes, whatever these were, he himself would have to keep the girl from brooding over hers.
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