And, if it had not been for a taste for plotting, which was continually getting him into scrapes, he might have been accounted a respectable member of society. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. Following her lead, he fortified himself with a swallow of the excellent Madeira before responding. ‘I knew I should find you still here. Presently the odour of burnt powder mingled agreeably with that of the incense. Gerald exchanged a puzzled glance with his friend.
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