Suddenly a half stifled exclamation broke from Anna’s lips. Even the abstract paintings on the wall were gray. “My God!” and ceased to move. Perhaps in two or three weeks. 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. He went on munching his water-chestnuts, and stared at the skyline. "But vere'll be the use o' vinnin'? you von't live to pay me.
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