“Who on earth did you study violin with?” Michelle jumped in. It filled her with indefinable fear. Upon what this instinct was based she could not say; she was conscious only of its insistence. And yet that could not be: it was a confession only in the event of his death. I felt somehow I’d hurt you. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. Ann Veronica surveyed his sloping back for a moment, and then drew her microscope toward her.
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