"Won't you take these?" For a space he merely stared at her, perhaps wondering if she were real. I thought I’d see Paris, do the thing—like a toff. You’ll end up dead, that’s what. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. The first peg was torture.
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