E. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. Under her feet lay intricate mosaics, and each warm hall was festooned in tapestries. " "Don't anger him, my dear son," implored the poor widow, with a look of anguish at Jack. He paused at the bamboo curtain of her room, which was in semi-darkness. Gerald kicked the panelled wall in frustration.
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