“You needn’t say a word more,” Mr. “Yes, I will go,” she promised, with a queer little smile. How dreary it all looks. He took her fingers and lifted his eyes to hers. And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true. “Do you see what I was talking about, Strings?” No one is going to want to hear a note from you until you have tone like.
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