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She refused coffee, though she knew that anyhow she was doomed to a sleepless night. She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. There's good stuff in him, if one could find the way to dig it out. "Could you get any of the music last night?" "Yes. 4.
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