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"I can't hold it much longer—it'll break my wrist. She was going to him soon and certainly, going to his strong, embracing arms. 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. " "Murder him!" cried Trenchard shuddering.
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