Spurlock snatched the check out of Ruth's hands and ran to the window. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. ‘She may well try to go back. “I’m damned if I’ll believe it,” he muttered to himself savagely. He was staring at her, openly gaping. You can’t go.
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