But I expect him back every minute. “Thanks, I’m not very fond of coffee,” Anna answered, “and I hate music. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. With a finger crooked in his side-pocket, she measured her step with his, her senses still dizzy from the echo of the magic sounds.
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