I wonder what men would say if we threw the mask aside—if we really told them what WE thought of them, really showed them what WE were. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. Lucy had been ignoring her, not purposefully, but noticeably. His eyebrows arched, knotting in the middle. “I have come for an explanation,” she said.
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