It was noon when the caravan reached the tower of the water-clock. This was the worst summer that I ever had in my life, Europe and all, and I can’t tell you how many times I drove by that Violin Camp hoping to catch a look at you, praying that there wasn’t some horny violin guy waiting to ask you out. “Wild horses—not if they have all the mounted police in London—shan’t keep me out. 1.
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