John’s father brought down a violin from a high closet shelf. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. A thin line of red appeared in the white neck. Their momentary absence seemed to have worked wonders; for now the most perfect understanding appeared to subsist between them. "Thames, I entreat—" "Your wishes are my laws, beloved, girl," replied Kneebone, bowing profoundly.
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