"Not my king's," returned Wood. I waited for her at the back. “I’m not gentle. You come with those clear eyes of yours, as valiant as an angel. Perhaps I deceived you about it. But Jonathan was not to be deterred. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. “It was a plot amongst them all to humiliate her. She recovered herself, however, with amazing facility. He had an air of having told her a deep, personal secret. He walked out into the Champs Elysées and sat down.
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