As concertmaster, it was Lucy’s duty to seat the orchestra as well as tune them. " "Hold your tongue, hussy!" cried her husband gruffly. This formality irked her: she wanted to play a little, romp. She heard this standard expression of a strong soul wrung with a critical coldness that astonished herself. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. " "How long have I been in bed?" "A week.
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