He's down in Patagonia somewhere. ’ He had abandoned the “sir”, Gerald noted, realising that the footman’s respect for him had dropped sharply. If he laid his own suspicions boldly before the girl, and in the end the boy came clean, he would always be haunted by the witless cruelty of the act. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. He was plainly attired in a riding-dress and boots of the period, and wore a hanger by his side.
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