This key," he added, taking it from the boy, "was purloined from me by your father, Jack. "I'll be back in a minute. " So there was always plenty of mail. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. “This is my way back to my side of the Park,” she said. He was a bad dog; he knew it perfectly; but where there was laughter, there was hope.
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