His tone was rough, almost threatening. “You must play for us again sometime. “I’m ready,” said Ann Veronica, closing her microscope-box with a click, and looking for one brief instant up the laboratory. At length she hit upon it: bubbling water. Through her door curtain she could see the light from the study lamp. “You wish me to stay?” he asked, in a low tone. You don’t know what you ask nor what you say. It’s an emerald.
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