’ ‘So I heard. Please to let me go there. "You play?" asked McClintock, who was sorting the rolls. "What ho!" he cried slapping Smith, who had fallen asleep with the brandybottle in his grasp, upon the shoulder. Then a surge of rage welled up. Suddenly he stopped short. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music.
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