Cambridge in 1888 is a small town that pretends to be a university. The streets are narrow. The buildings are old. The men are older than they should be. I have worked here twenty years. Three concertmasters. Three different kinds of ruin.
Julian West is the third. He is twenty-six. He has a Stradivarius worth more than I will earn in my lifetime. He plays it every night at the Music Society concerts. The crowds go quiet when he raises the bow. They go quiet because they know something is coming that they will not hear again. He plays perfectly. That is the problem. I polish the cases. I wind the strings. I sweep the rosin dust...
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