She wondered occasionally why his mind needed so much distraction. "Heaven be praised, I am not the son of a nobleman. She drank and drank until his body was a lifeless husk, as light as a mannequin, virtually hollow of all but the fluid in his bones. “Lucy, where is your callous? All violinists have calluses on their necks and hands from playing. “My dear man,” she exclaimed, “wasn’t that a foregone conclusion?” “You treat the matter lightly,” he continued.
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