Whenever ecstasy— any kind of ecstasy—filled her heart to bursting, these physical expressions eased the pressure. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. . There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. ‘If you are not going to visit Charvill today, I’ll escort you back to the convent in Golden Square.
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