As concertmaster, it was Lucy’s duty to seat the orchestra as well as tune them. Her mind wandered back to that fateful day. “Lucy, where is your callous? All violinists have calluses on their necks and hands from playing. You shall behold him. Wanted her out of the way because he had been afraid of her, afraid of himself! He, at fifty-four! Then into this void poured a flaming anger, a blind and unreasoning anger. But it was extraordinary what seemingly irrelevant things could restore her to the thought of Capes again. "Thank you, Mrs.
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