"Let us in," said the Master, rapping his truncheon authoritatively against the boards, "or we'll force an entrance. But perhaps you don't know; there was nothing in the pockets. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. After all there are other things. Annabel saw it, and suddenly changed her tone.
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