" "Piano-player? Do you mean someone who plays for you?" "No, no; one of those mechanical things you play with your feet. The real ‘Alcide’,” she wound up with a faint smile across the table at him, “is here. “You must answer me, Annabel,” she continued. He beamed a little as she disappeared into the orchestra room, a cacophony of tuning instruments. “We played at love-making in Paris.
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