One Friday afternoon, in this pleasant month, it chanced that Mr. " "So do I!" she cried; "for then you would have been really my brother. “Why would she do that? Why does she care? That’s a waste of her time. The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man. She seemed tense when not playing, he noted, more so than she had during the first two pieces. She dreaded living off the land again, like an animal, as she had done for dozens of years at a stretch.
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