The unequal battle went on. Brown gushed conservatively about the orchestra, letting the audience know about the recording engineers and how proud he was of Martin Chen. They were hailed as celebrities, the three of them. “My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at once. Hurry to me, I entreat you. Better get back now! You be careful. Here she walked more slowly, looking constantly at the notices in the shop windows. Help—should she need it—from the natives was out of the question. His voice had changed, the joy had gone out of it; and she understood that something from the past had rolled up to spoil this hour. She would never, never go back.
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