Wood," she cried, as the staff fell from his grasp. “How shall I get my luggage out of the house?. The rascal will be at work before the morning. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. A momentary petrifaction, and terror had lent wings to her feet. “Odd!” he remarked, rather surprisingly, after a little interval. So long as a man behaves himself, I can't refuse him liquor. . .
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