She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. During all their long comradeship he had never so much as ventured to hold her fingers. That would come later. To call yourself ‘Alcide’! Your hair, your gestures, your voice, all mine! Oh, how dared you do it?” “You must not forget,” Anna said calmly, “that it is necessary for me also—to live. My mother died the day I was born; that’s what they tell me. .
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