He sent me flowers. It seems to me just talk; it seems to me like the fancy of a dream. 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. ’ ‘Gérard,’ she said, giving the French version with a soft “g” and not quite managing the “l”.
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