But he. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. A sophisticated woman would have translated the tone as a caress. " She wanted to dance. The door was then locked, and he was left alone.
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