’ ‘Why should you care?’ demanded Roding, exasperated. She would not be driven in by this persistent, sneaking aggression. He began to tell me something—and stopped. He had been for months without music of the character he loved—and he dared not play any of it! McClintock, after the music began, left the piano and sat in a corner just beyond the circle of light cast by the lamp. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie.
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