But, on the bursting of that bubble, his hopes vanished with it. His interest was divided: while his ears drank in the sounds, his glance constantly roved from Ruth to the performer and back to Ruth. His mind was busy with a résumé of yesterday's unusual events. And I have seen work by his pupils myself that struck me as being—well, next door to shameful. You understand me, I’m sure. She launched into a stuffy Partita 89 and played it too fast. The women, Ann Veronica thought, were not quite so interesting as the men. CHAPTER XXII.
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