He saw the expression on the girl's face and understood what it signified, that it was the reflected pattern of his own. He had thought it might have that effect. By this time Capes’ hair had bleached nearly white, and his skin had become a skin of red copper shot with gold. But here was new music, tender and kindly and whimsical, that first roved to and fro in the mind and then cuddled up in the heart. "Did you write it?" "No.
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