Apparently he had projected beyond his table some hypnotic thought, for it had held him all through the dining hour. “Why aren’t you in Orchestra, Lucy?” “I just. ” He was slightly tipsy. Everything proclaimed the mischievous propensities of the recent occupants of the chamber. They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. In the evening, a band of village musicians, accompanied by most of the young inhabitants of Willesden, strolled out to Dollis Hill, where they formed a rustic concert under the great elm before the door.
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