John’s father brought down a violin from a high closet shelf. “Just like old times,” she thought sardonically. Do you remember when we went right away, Nigel, and forgot everything? We went down the river past Veraz, and the larks were singing all over those deep brown fields, and the river further on wound its way like a coil of silver across the rich meadowland, and along the hillside vineyards. My birthday was on May first. ‘Yes, for there were too many females for the vicomte to make me a dowry.
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