Their momentary absence seemed to have worked wonders; for now the most perfect understanding appeared to subsist between them. "He will kill me," cried Thames. Brown gushed conservatively about the orchestra, letting the audience know about the recording engineers and how proud he was of Martin Chen. Such names shone brightly in the darkness, with black spaces of unilluminated emptiness about them, as stars shine in the night; but now—now it was different; now it was dawn—the real dawn.
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