You sing better than Annabel ever did, you have even a better style. It lay undisturbed in the remotest corner of the recess. Even the horns were easing into the concept and the woodwinds in the second movement were particularly well-orchestrated. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. To-morrow I shall come and talk to you again—of other things.
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