Plote was sleeping or deaf. ” She shook her head. Springing to his feet in an ecstasy of terror, he stumbled, and had well nigh realized his worst apprehensions. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. " "Piano-player? Do you mean someone who plays for you?" "No, no; one of those mechanical things you play with your feet. . ’ ‘I don’t, as a matter of fact,’ Gerald said decidedly, a frown creasing his brow. The odds were astounding and yet he had it bad. "Give me till to-morrow," implored she, "and if I can bring myself to part with him, you shall have him without another word.
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