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She smiled mechanically at the audience, holding her violin limply, feeling the hot lights on her made-up face. Forgive my daring. “—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. John eased off. " "Not in the least, Sir," replied Tom, in a drowsy tone, and with a look seeming to imply that he was too much accustomed to odd noises at night to heed them. It isn’t because you’re good, but because I may be rotten bad; and there’s something—something living and understanding in you.
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