“I am afraid that you are making a mistake,” she said. His eyes were narrow with desire like a panther’s as he grinned at seeing her visibly satisfied. Earles threw down his pen with a little exclamation. To reach the door they had to pass the end of the table, and behind the chair where Mr. John’s father added cheerfully, “So, do you play any violin?” She balked at the stereotype, but admitted, “Yes, I play violin.
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