Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. 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. Wild had evidently discovered the body of Quilt Arnold, and was loudly expressing his anger and astonishment. “No, Lucy, because Satan does not exist.
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