But don't thank me; thank Miss Enschede. ‘Of course I see that,’ she said impatiently. " "More blood! more blood!" cried Trenchard, passing his hand with agony across his brow. 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.
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