He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. Which is why I wasn’t able to see him until today. " "By no means," rejoined Wood, hastily. " "What has he done?" "What did he have to drink over here last night?" "Not even water. The moral right of the author has been asserted. "Women must have their wills while they live, since they can make none when they die," observed Wood, as he imprinted a kiss of reconciliation on the plump hand of his consort;—a sentiment to the correctness of which the party chiefly interested graciously vouchsafed her assent.
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