She was too wrapped up in the sheer joy of playing again; it had 201 been intimate, masturbatory. 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. "I told you the prison wasn't built that could hold me," cried Jack.
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