Beethoven; he’s the best of them. It is enough to make a man throw away canvas and brushes into the bottomless precipices, enough to make one weep with despair at his utter and absolute impotence. Perhaps it was loneliness. A handy knife, and a good tot of something sharp to clean out the wound. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. “I want you so much, Lucy.
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