As Gosse pushed her around it, she felt his hold about her of necessity loosen slightly. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple. He beamed a little as she disappeared into the orchestra room, a cacophony of tuning instruments. I don’t understand the workings of a gentleman’s mind.
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