He wanted her named Mary. She had a feeling as though something had dropped from her eyes, as though she had just discovered herself for the first time—discovered herself as a sleepwalker might do, abruptly among dangers, hindrances, and perplexities, on the verge of a cardinal crisis. “It’s—private. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music.
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