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Here is one quote I am trying to find. Maybe someone can help? It is from someone's default icon. Unfortunately she does not know from which book it is:
and the soared up and away, up, joining, separating, twisting, the one answering the other, rising into their native air
I vaguely remember it but really do not wish to wait for the new read to discover it again.
Anyone?
ETA: Thanks to
heather_mist and
feroxargentea here is the wonderfully complete excerpt:
'Where did you get this?' he asked.
'I picked it up in a pawnshop near the Sally-Port. It cost twelve and six.'
'You were not cheated, my dear. I like its tone extremely warm, mellow. You are a great judge of a fiddle, to be sure. Come, come, there is not a moment to lose; I make my rounds at seven bells. One, two, three,' he cried, tapping his foot, and the cabin was filled with the opening movement of Boccherini's Corelli sonata, a glorious texture of sound, the violin sending up brilliant jets through the 'cello's involutions, and they soared up and away from the grind of pumps, the tireless barking, the problems of command, up, the one answering the other, joining, separating, twining, rising into their native air.
(chapter 7)
and the soared up and away, up, joining, separating, twisting, the one answering the other, rising into their native air
I vaguely remember it but really do not wish to wait for the new read to discover it again.
Anyone?
ETA: Thanks to
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
'Where did you get this?' he asked.
'I picked it up in a pawnshop near the Sally-Port. It cost twelve and six.'
'You were not cheated, my dear. I like its tone extremely warm, mellow. You are a great judge of a fiddle, to be sure. Come, come, there is not a moment to lose; I make my rounds at seven bells. One, two, three,' he cried, tapping his foot, and the cabin was filled with the opening movement of Boccherini's Corelli sonata, a glorious texture of sound, the violin sending up brilliant jets through the 'cello's involutions, and they soared up and away from the grind of pumps, the tireless barking, the problems of command, up, the one answering the other, joining, separating, twining, rising into their native air.
(chapter 7)