I could never have talked to you like this, forgetting everything that parts us, forgetting even your age, if I did not love you utterly. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. ‘Yes, that is what the nuns they said of me. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy. I had to sell out, you see, when my father died, for the estate is in my hands. I tried to have it out with him, but he wouldn’t have it out.
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