” He put his hands in his pockets, his mouth puckered to a whistle, and he went to the door of the outer preparation-room and stood there, looking, save for the faintest intensification of his natural ruddiness, the embodiment of blond serenity. She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. The twists in his brain had suddenly straightened out; he was normal, wholly himself; and he knew now exactly what he had done. He’s waiting.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ1LjE2MS40MiAtIDAyLTA3LTIwMjQgMDg6NTU6NTIgLSA2MTg3Nzg4MzU=
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