She was too wrapped up in the sheer joy of playing again; it had 201 been intimate, masturbatory. She was looking anxiously at the entrance to the restaurant. “No,” she said at last; “I’m a human being—not a timid female. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. She had taken care he should have this momentous talk with her on a garden-seat commanded by the windows of the house.
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