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. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. You will not find me unreasonable with you. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect.
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