"Well, Sir?" gasped Sir Rowland. I shall lose my fees and the laced coat. Wood. Even now I do not understand. Wood in the deepest mourning. A message was dispatched from Florence that she was to again receive her future husband. 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.
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