The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. She would come and sit cross-legged just beyond the bamboo curtain and silently watch him at work. " "Back!" cried Rowland. " "And never should again, were he mine," rejoined Jonathan.
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