He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. But it was generally unused, and so was a suitable spot for these secret meetings, when Melusine plotted and delivered her instructions to Jack Kimble. Dieu du ciel, what was it? She turned slowly, listening for the direction of the sound. She looked at the white ankle socks on her feet and was reminded simultaneously of her pajama outfit and the suitcase that still lay underneath the bed.
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