Here we are. “Remember,” he said, “you are not by any means a dying man now, but you’ll never pull through if you don’t husband your strength. Rain pounded the tin roof, and waterfalls obscured the pavilion into its own private 91 chamber. 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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