As the Wastrel rushed, Spurlock sidestepped, swept the ball into his hand, set himself and threw it. I want to leave it for ever. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her.
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