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She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald. She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. And there was no intimation whatever that the blinds would ever go up or the windows or doors be opened, or the chandeliers, that seemed to promise such a blaze of fire, unveiled and furnished and lit. In the pause she realized the attention of the others converged upon her, and that the tears were brimming over her eyes.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 30-09-2024 09:38:34