It had felt wonderful to pick up the fiddle again. All through the love music of the second act, until the hunting horns of Mark break in upon the dream, Ann Veronica’s consciousness was flooded with the perception of a man close beside her, preparing some new thing to say to her, preparing, perhaps, to touch her, stretching hungry invisible tentacles about her. She answered in whispers, for there was the white arm of a woman in the next box peeping beyond the partition within a yard of him. To his great joy he found a small garret-door in the roof of the opposite house open.
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