But the orchestra had never had a finer hour, and everyone was aware of it. Presently she saw Spurlock on the way to the lagoon. The thousand voices which a few moments before had been so clamorous were now hushed. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. Sebastianus began performing Marina’s last rites. It is queer how ideas pop into one's head.
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