I sang to him, and he was satisfied. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. It was filled with sopping lichens and green benches too slimy to sit upon. Go up and get my daughter so we can have some homemade pie.
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