“For one thing, Anna,” she remarked, “we had not the slightest idea that you had left, or were leaving Paris. The air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees. She guessed Jack was having trouble finding the right piece of carving. Let him be sure. 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.
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