She was afraid people would follow her, she was afraid of the dark, open doorways she passed, and afraid of the blazes of light; she was afraid to be alone, and she knew not what it was she feared. The winters were bitter here, they could have just as easily been frozen off. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. " "They know what?" "When and when not to speak. ” He stared at her, trying to guess at the mystery of her thoughts. ” He stated matter-of-factly.
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