"No Blueskin, I perceive, Sir," he observed, in a deferential tone, as Wild entered the Lodge. Panting with effort, she held her point menacingly at Gosse’s chest. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. “I’d have to sneak out after everyone was asleep.
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