" "Here you have it, my dear," returned the hawker. ” She assented, smiling. A dissipated, loose-living man. “I’ve been looking out for you,” he said. She pulled him by his tee shirt, pulling his mouth to her nipple. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. He panted for a moment with unuttered replies, and then, with a scornful gesture, got up and left the cell.
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