“My Mom never gets a good night’s sleep. When my father died, and we were left alone in Jersey, I was quite a long time deciding whether I would go in for singing professionally or try painting. I looked upon you from the first as the most promising of my pupils. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac.
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