” John traced his finger over the meeting point of her breast and her ribcage as they lay naked on his unmade bed. I would that you were my own. Tears sprang to her eyes. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her.
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