He looked at her guiltily. He was a fool. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. He looked about for his hat, and put it on. "Aye—to pretend to her that you don't care. Shari managed it after graduating beauty school. He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere.
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