Maybe the girl was telling the truth, and then again, maybe she wasn't. He stood away from her. 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. "Again," cried Jonathan, sternly: "beware!" "What!" vociferated Trenchard.
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