"You've got him?" demanded Ireton. A strong coarse man, and there were things in his eyes which made my blood run cold with terror. His hair had begun to gray, his belly had just begun to round. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. Perhaps that other boy who visited you backstage at the concert.
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