“Hey sis!” He cried drunkenly. He fell back upon the pillows with a little moan, clutching the slim white fingers fiercely. For the present, he murmured his farewells, and turning, caught Hilary’s eye and walked away, crossing the ballroom to move into the less opulent, and less crowded, saloon next door where servants were dispensing refreshments. Her family are solid West End people, Kensington people. He would never be able to compose upon it, but it would serve to produce the finished work.
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