There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. "Women must have their wills while they live, since they can make none when they die," observed Wood, as he imprinted a kiss of reconciliation on the plump hand of his consort;—a sentiment to the correctness of which the party chiefly interested graciously vouchsafed her assent. ‘You do not understand, Gérard.
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