She closed the drawer and folded up his music stand
without making a sound. She seemed far removed from him, like someone
from another world.
Cloud surrounded her, but he caught glimpses of her through it
occasionally. She took up his violin, very carefully, put it into its
case, and carried it out of the room. He did not care very much, but it
seemed rather an impolite thing to do. He knew that he would not have
stolen a violin when the owner was in the same room.
Soon she came back and he was reassured. She had not stolen it after
all. She might have broken it, for she seemed to feel very sorry about
something. She was wiping her eyes with a bit of white, as women always
did when they cried.
It was not necessary for her to cry, on account of one broken violin,
for he had thousands of them--Stradivarius, Amati, Cremona; everything.
Some of them were highly coloured and very rare on that account. He had
only to go to his storehouse, present a ticket, and choose whatever he
liked--red, green, yellow, or even striped.
Everybody who played the violin needed a great many of them, for the
different moods of music.
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