” And thus it was that as Ann Veronica neared the gates of home, she said to herself: “I’ll have it out with him somehow. ‘Jacques?’ ‘No. The woman shrugged her shoulders. Too late. My will never faltered. Maybe the girl was telling the truth, and then again, maybe she wasn't. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. .
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