They were in different key, they had a different timbre. “Anyway, enough about that. But the orchestra had never had a finer hour, and everyone was aware of it. Ann Veronica readjusted her chin on her hand. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. He talked very little and rather absently.
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