There is scarcely one chance in a dozen of saving his life; there would be none at all if he were moved. He had meant to come at his business in a roundabout way, but for that little slip. With his black and gray hair, his gray-green eyes were a striking contrast and he looked even younger, as if he had been frozen at age thirty-three. "Nobody composes any more, nobody paints, nobody writes—I mean, on a par with what we've just heard. At the back of her mind, Melusine noted an odd look in the boy’s face, but there was no time to explore it.
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