[The screen, grainy black, white and sepia, shows a tiny garret room. Bare floorboards, a music stand, a bed and, on the floor, one Robert Chase tending to a broken violin.]
Of course, choose now to wear through. Now. I haven't the money for bread, and I'm wasting centimes on strings. [He releases the snapped catgut cord from the violin's
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I'm taking a break from jumping through hoops.
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[ a looooong pause as if he is checking his mental reservoirs (he's so not) in which he tries not to laugh ]
No, none to speak of.
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Though, if it was an observation on how much time I spend with my fiddle, I'm going out. You'll have quiet for a while.
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[ ooc: I DO NOT APOLOGIZE. ]
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