They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. Martin came to the stage from his section, his own violin in hand. " "You will remain longer than you anticipate," muttered Wild. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. \"God, it's too curly for a brush.
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