" "Oh! let me die," groaned the widow. ’ ‘You traitor, Gerald,’ laughed Lucilla, her yellow curls bouncing under a huge straw bonnet all over flowers. Except that this music we have been swimming in is divine. Martin came to the stage from his section, his own violin in hand. But—” The tired woman raised her eyebrows in mild protest. ” She looked at him with uplifted eyebrows—a look of whimsical incredulity.
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