‘It is, you understand, that Monsieur Charvill did not—how do you say in English?—having an eye to an eye—’ ‘Didn’t see eye to eye with the Vicomte Valade? That I can well believe. “Where am I?” he muttered. She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. "Hear! hear!" vociferated Quilt. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. The program was to include a Bach cantata, her favorite piece from Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade, and for the first time ever, a student composition, a Concerto, by a precociously talented fellow student named Martin Chen. Having ascertained that Thames was at his heels, he hurried with his ghastly burthen down Seacoal Lane. Love and lavender, he thought, perhaps wistfully.
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