“I can only repeat what I said before,” she declared. ” “The only Montague Hill I ever knew,” Annabel said slowly, “is dead. Earles declared. 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. “Just like old times,” she thought sardonically.
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