“Forgive me,” he said. . John’s father brought down a violin from a high closet shelf. ‘Oh! little Vee!’ he cried, ‘little Vee!’ and put his face between his hands and sat still for a long time before he broke out again. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. “You MUST,” he said, “because of my depression. The lady had disappeared. Mere formality.
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