He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. He no longer made love to her, as there was no point. I—I hurt myself. “But I’m afraid you are going to be in a hopeless minority here as regards me. ‘Eh bien. That register would be easy to get at; comforting thought. This purse," he added, chinking it in the air, "and this ring, were given me for him just now by the lady, who made a false step on leaving your house.
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