Neither combatant could use his sword; and in strength the fugitive was evidently superior to his antagonist. He stood before her. The hand which the man had been holding hung limp and nerveless at her side. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. I love the soles of your feet.
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