“I don’t know much about the technique of music,” he said at last, with his eyes upon her. Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark. He worked afternoons, when everybody else went to sleep; he worked at night under a heat-giving light, with insects buzzing and dropping about, with a blue haze of tobacco smoke that tried to get out and could not.
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