‘In that case, he is probably already dead, and you have nothing to worry about. And now the fiend Gosse had taken even that away from her. . What she admired in her man was his resolute defense of his opinions. He turned in at the club. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. To that, perhaps, a large part of its satisfyingness was due. ‘But we—mon mari and myself—we have the bonne chance. . Almost light-heartedly.
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