She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. It is nothing at all for you to worry about. I’ll protect you!” He cried. 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. ” “The good God!” Anna murmured, herself shaken with fear. He wanted her named Mary.
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