‘Of course the fellow has doubtless stayed put to wait for you,’ retorted Hilary. “There have been other times,” he said a little sadly. She was practicing with them on that very day, and displaced a rather mediocre boy violinist who claimed “to be better at the viola anyway” as first chair. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. She had money of her own—much more than I have—and there was no need to squabble about that. “Dear me!” he said.
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