I'm a graybeard, an old bachelor; so I am accorded certain privileges. “Where are we going?” Lucy asked desperately as Michelle began to twitch with greater frequency. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. They vanished through the doorway.
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