He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. You see, it's like this. I don't know what you have done; I don't want to know now. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. And for Suzanne and the vicomte, I am nothing.
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