She turned to Martha as the lad exited by the back door, but her nurse forestalled anything she might have said. ” She could practically hear the self-deprecating thoughts racing across his mind, the failed hours of rehearsed lines. “I wonder what you could do?” he said. She was practicing with them on that very day, and displaced a rather mediocre boy violinist who claimed “to be better at the viola anyway” as first chair. It was necessary to think, and think quickly. But what did the occupant of the box care? The laugh was always with the dead: they were out of the muddle.
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