She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. "For what?" "I had the paper with me. She felt her chest trying to float up, but the blessed undertow, the dreaded reason why she was warned to never bathe in the ocean, sucked her feet down, putting the decision where it belonged, into the hands of God. "Why does she weep?" Ruth wanted to know.
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