She guarded her mother, or at least she had liked to think so. When they reached the door, he kissed her 246 again. ’ ‘But Gérard knows. He was continually dramatizing the future, anticipating the singular role he had elected to play. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. Flinging her back against it, she put her hands out, barring his way. Clothes.
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