It was a night well-fitted to their enterprise, calm, still, and profoundly dark. ‘But for how long?’ Lady Bicknacre asked apprehensively. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. Anything else that was said she now regarded only as an aspect of or diversion from that. "I can't say I did," replied Wood, somewhat reluctantly; "what with the confusion incident to the storm, and the subsequent press of business, I put it off till it was too late.
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