It'll be turning over to-morrow. Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been. When I gave him an invitation to supper, I little thought he'd accept it. ” “Then condemn me to Hell. 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. Her heart full of dread, she dragged on it.
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