The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods. 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. “Not to-night,” she said. Old and dilapidated, the widow's domicile looked the very picture of desolation and misery.
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