She addresses you as the Flower of the Lotus, as the Resplendent Moonbeam. She turned to face him and he kissed her. Martin came to the stage from his section, his own violin in hand. ‘Good, good—and not before time,’ muttered Roding, glancing round again. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. His statement was treated with derision.
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