It seemed intolerable that she should go home and admit herself beaten. John’s father added cheerfully, “So, do you play any violin?” She balked at the stereotype, but admitted, “Yes, I play violin. Ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it.
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