The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. But at last this ordeal was over, and Ramage opened the door. " "I wish I could, Joan," returned the carpenter, sadly. Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch.
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