Captivating Mary Carstairs
In a rear room of a quaint little house uptown a great bronzed-faced man sat at a piano a dead pipe between his teeth and absently played the most difficult of Beethoven's sonatas. Though he played it divinely the three men who sat smoking and talking in a near-by corner paid not the least attention to him. The player it seemed did not expect them to: he paid very little attention himself.
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