That would be myself, or if she lived, Mary’s daughter. She wore a black satin dress, a little shiny at the seams, a purposeless bow of white tulle at the back of her neck, and a huge chatelaine. "She is in his power, and I am here, chained hand and foot, unable to assist her. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. There was a loose button on that coat, and I want to sew it on. Hastily, he reached for the door. He would never recognize me now. And the opportunity to share in your exciting adventures was just too tempting to be put aside.
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