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The old man has a young piano some say much too young for him but he has never listened to neighborhood gossip and does not know he is old lets loose something wild and brilliant on the keys but with a bitter discipline giving the piano a voice that is neither piano nor man but the voice of thunder and lightning the brush of a butterfly's wing catching a beam of sun it is the dark sound of a god held far too long underground he has named her Eurydice and they have become inseparable

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