Ennison stood still for a moment, swinging his latchkey upon his finger. Gerald reached out a hand to stop her. " "The pianist?" "Yes. Gregory B. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter. "I think you're all bewitched," she cried.
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