He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. Then she slowly straightened, releasing him. She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly. " "Oh, Jack!" cried his mother, falling upon his neck, and covering him with kisses. Hogarth, didn't I see you last night at the ridotto with Lady Thornhill and her pretty daughter?" "Me!—no, Sir," stammered Hogarth, colouring.
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