They then took off their boots, and crept stealthily up stairs, treading upon the point of their toes so cautiously, that not a board creaked beneath their weight. She seemed to have recovered herself as he returned, but rose as if she would go back to the saloon. . Surely he was imagining this picture. He will tell you confidentially that he simply hates the place. ‘You have made a serious mistake, Melusine. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. Oh, Mr Jarvis paid no mind,’ she added hastily, as if expecting disapproval. I like the way you shared it.
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