Her heart thudded. When he returned, it was always the same. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. I have been sitting with him ever since. And how can I get into one brief letter the complex accumulated desires of what is now, I find on reference to my diary, nearly sixteen months of letting my mind run on you— ever since that jolly party at Surbiton, where we raced and beat the other boat. Such an obvious ruse, but the boys and girls would defend their pride to the bitter end, the facade of study groups during rutting season.
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