For Ruth was in love, tenderly and beautifully in love; but she did not know how to express it beyond the fetch and carry phase. The perception of him flooded her being. Perhaps her odd beauty—and that too was natural—stirred these thoughts into being. “Well,” she said, “good-night, father. ” Annabel laughed hardly. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights.
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