From under his pillow he dragged forth the key to the trunk. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. Then she goes to a dramatic agent. I’m a little tired. Sebastian was always a man who felt the need to surround himself with the trappings of the finer life. I didn’t understand. Each arm of the blouse had the faintest of rings around the elbow, a stain that looked familiar.
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