She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. "Why do you laugh?" she asked gravely. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. ’ ‘What husband?’ ‘Precisely. ’ Her features broke apart in a laugh. I fancy that Sir John does not approve of me. But this was not a season in which to be needlessly scrupulous.
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