Strongly impregnated with the mingled odours of tobacco, ale, brandy, and other liquors, the atmosphere was almost stifling. So far as the eye could reach, the white level road, with its fringe of elm-trees, was empty. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. "I did not know … that it was … like that!" She stepped back; but as his hands fell she caught and held them tightly. She didn’t trust Gianfrancesco, you know, she called him a ‘bad husband’. "He never let me keep a dog or a cat about the house. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music.
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