Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. A moment more and he would have been crushed beneath the ponderous board, when a slight but strong arm arrested its descent. He remembered also, all at once, the very first words he had heard her speak: “I was not born to this. It was something that Sebastian had refused to do, a lifestyle that he placed himself above. John’s father added cheerfully, “So, do you play any violin?” She balked at the stereotype, but admitted, “Yes, I play violin.
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