She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato. “Idiotic, isn’t it?” “Absolutely,” she agreed coldly. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. Then came the cable that you were in Canton, ill, but not dangerously so. “I mean to go to prison directly the session is over,” said Miss Klegg. " The air in the narrow street, which was not eight feet wide, swarmed with smells impossible to define; but all at once the pleasantly pungent odour of Chinese incense drifted across the girl's face, and gratefully she quickened her inhalations.
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