She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. “It’s the warming up of the year, the coming of the light mornings, the way in which everything begins to run about and begin new things. ” “Did you say,” Sir John asked, “that the man’s name was Hill?” “Yes,” she answered. He had made it even easier by walking up the steps instead of taking the elevator. Lucia had never been so happy, so content. Perhaps that was the reason that they both remained standing.
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