The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. There was enough contra-light to render her ethereal. She smiled mechanically at the audience, holding her violin limply, feeling the hot lights on her made-up face. His mind was filled briefly with psychic images of a charnel house that danced like a spider in his head.
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