‘Then it must certainly be Eugénie. " "You're strangely superstitious, Sir Rowland," said Jonathan, halting, and looking steadfastly at him. 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. Don’t say anything, she thought to herself, say nothing more, Martin.
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