" Half an hour later she laid aside the book. "Why didn't you come out when I called you, you young dog?" cried Quilt in a savage tone. “Do you mind very much?” He shook his head. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. Even now she could trace the outline of his shape behind the left-hand curtain. Wood started to his feet.
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