His gaze dropped to the black garment that covered her. It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat. She hesitated. She caught her finger in the lock and had to ask him to help pry it out. "Mur—der!" roared Wood, struggling to free himself from his assailant, by whom he was half strangled. And all the third act is love-sick music. The reply he received this time put him into a state of continuous bewilderment.
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