” “Your ideas of fairness—” he remarked, and discontinued that sentence. She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. "It was the story of a man, so to speak, who had left his vitals in his native land and wandered strange paths emptily. A dissipated, loose-living man. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits. Lucy went downstairs to prepare the hot cocoa that would be the last hot drink of the season, ruefully spiking the liquid with Nytol, just one tablet dissolved in a little warm water.
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