He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. Perhaps once it had desired some other human being intolerably. The horns were the worst, slipping in and out of tune and rushing the easy sections, fighting everyone else. She grasped at the right one, massaging where his grip had been and Gerald hoped he had not bruised her. Hitherto she had seen it chiefly in pictures and other works of art, incidentally, and as a thing taken out of life.
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