But now it was all over, and Alice was getting on well. Brown engaged in the usual browbeating and complaining he reserved for sections who came in late and soloists who left tempo behind like the leftovers of a Sunday picnic. As they're so fond of each other's society they shan't part company even on that occasion, but shall swing from the same tree. She tore open the envelope and read it. She refused to accept her fate, but what is it that she could do about it? Night after night she invented alternatives. He knew what he knew. G'night, kids. But I'm thinking of asking Josh Durkin.
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