Dorling said deferentially. " And seizing her by the hair, he pulled back her head, and drew the knife with all his force across her throat. ‘Didn’t mean it, love. Go to your sister, and do not quit her till all is over. 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. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. If nothing else had clinched that, the purse had.
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