She tucked her stick under her arm and re-read Manning’s letter. But whatever she may have said was lost as Gerald pinned her to the wall, the point of the sword at her throat. “One has to live and learn,” she remarked, with a passable imitation of her father’s manner. Most of the tables were for those who smoked only and drank wine, but there were a few spread with tablecloths and laid for dinner. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music.
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