She smiled mechanically at the audience, holding her violin limply, feeling the hot lights on her made-up face. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. ‘Cousin? But I am a fool. " "What did I say?" "Only one word," she said, offering her first white lie.
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