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THE FIFTH STRING
sympathy for old Sanders' sudden death racked her soul. He went toward her and lovingly taking her hands, bent low and pressed his lips to them; they were cold as marble.
"Darling," he said; "something has made you unhappy. What is it?"
"Tell me, Angelo, and truly; is your violin like other violins?"
This unexpected question came so suddenly he could not control his agitation.
"Why do you ask?" he said.
"You must answer me directly!"
"No, Mildred; my violin is different from any other I have ever seen," this hesitatingly and with great effort at composure.
"In what way is it different?" she almost demanded.
"It is peculiarly constructed; it has an extra string. But why this sudden
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