’ ‘Don’t be stuffy, Hilary,’ admonished his betrothed. . Wood wound it up by a description of the drenching he had undergone at the Mint pump, the other could hold out no longer, but, leaning back in his chair, gave free scope to his merriment. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. But what he could do or might do she could not imagine. But Gerald kept to a casual note. .
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