There was a discreet knocking at the door, and Ramage’s face changed. The audience was made up of parents, teachers, and a few other curious folks from town, all sitting hushed in anticipatory silence as the school orchestra assembled onstage. The musician. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. You knew me in Paris. The fanatic has no such word in his vocabulary.
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