Lucy auditioned on a borrowed violin. "Where?" "That can wait," she answered. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them.
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