Has your ladyship any further commands?" "None whatever. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand. He paused at the bamboo curtain of her room, which was in semi-darkness. "We won't have any trouble understanding each other; same language. McClintock wrote me about you; but all I needed was the sight of your face as it was a moment gone.
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