The man’s hand flashed out, but immediately afterwards an oath and a cry of pain broke from his lips. The girl’s gaze met his in interested inquiry. “Lucy, where is your callous? All violinists have calluses on their necks and hands from playing. ” She looked at him with fluttering eyelids—sweetly grateful. One day she awoke and he was cavorting about underneath the covers. That's one of the troubles with young folks: they take themselves so seriously. “Not a bit of it.
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