He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. I love you. ” The brutality of his first astonishment was evaporating. Too busy. He handed Ruth a letter. It came into her head with real emotional force that this must be some particularly fantastic sort of dream. ’ ‘Don’t start arguing again, for God’s sake,’ snapped Roding irritably, dragging out his own large pocket-handkerchief. She recognized the face but could not quite place it. “It makes me feel,” he said, “that nothing is impossible—to have you here beside me. Then she saw him.
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