The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. Michelle was sounding alarm bells everywhere in Lucy’s brain, but Lucy felt the pull of a 188 greater inertia, the urge to stay put so strong that to deny it was to deny the existence of gravity. .
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