Kneebone, who did not appear in the slightest degree disconcerted by his cool reception, each sank carelessly into a chair, and made himself at home in a moment. "Is it you?" "It is," replied Sheppard, as he untied the cords. 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. She drank her glass of wine, however, and clanked glasses good-naturedly with Mr. They sat in the front row. His suspicions at first fell upon you.
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