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Brahms Violin Concerto, First Movement


Of all the proofreaders, Emma knew who she was and was happy to be herself.

“All right, then,” Angelica said, playing with her hair, nervously.

“Where was I? Oh, yes, John. Now, he’s very different from Walt, who’s always ready for a laugh and has a twinkle in his deep baby blues. John’s nurturing a hermit image. He rarely talks, but I did manage to get out of him that no one but his teachers have read his poetry. Ever. His father teaches literature at a local university in Ohio and stopped writing when he was John’s age. John learned to appreciate classical music from his father. His favorite piece is Brahms ‘Violin Concerto.’”

Angelica stopped playing with her hair and placed her hands on her thighs. “I love that piece, too, though I find it difficult to play.”

“So, you’re a musician,” Emma said, as though she’d solved a mystery.

“Yes,” Angelica said, as though admitting to a crime. She hadn’t meant to reveal herself to Emma and her hotline. “I play the violin and piano, and I’m a composer.”

(From my novel, Turn On, Tune Out)


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