” Courtlaw rose too. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. " "The pianist?" "Yes. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. ” “Yet you are very young. ’ ‘Tchah!’ He glared at her. She confronted him with his own double-standard.
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