It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. The roofs and gables of many of the houses had been torn off. He savored the last solo, the coda. I should have gone mad without it. ’ ‘That’s fortunate,’ murmured Lucilla. Painting is only one slender branch of the great tree. ‘First I must see Jacques, and—’ ‘No need for that,’ intervened Roding, grasping her arm and trying to drag her to the door.
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