John’s father added cheerfully, “So, do you play any violin?” She balked at the stereotype, but admitted, “Yes, I play violin. " Something in the child's voice, something in her manner, warned the spinster that her well-meaning inquisitiveness had received a set-back and that it would be dangerous to press it forward again. And in its way it was very well. It's my way when I'm ruffled. Eh? Banging against the old rollers—that'll put some life into us both.
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