“They are coming past our table. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words. As he crossed this chamber, his foot struck against something on the floor, which nearly threw him down, and stooping to examine the object, he found it was a key. “I am not in need of any.
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