“Nothing. I never had even a real doll," she added, as she snuggled the flea-bitten head to her heart. E. 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. For now, I fear there is something worse, something more present.
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