E. B. Fancy, as they say hereabouts!" What had aroused this open-air monologue was a small tin sign in a window. At the threshold of the study he bade her good-night; but he did not touch her forehead with his lips. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. "I could hang him now if I liked.
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