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"I don't buy furniture, Mr. Vance," she said, knowing his name without being told. "I buy instruments. And an instrument isn't an instrument unless it’s making a sound. Prove it works."

The woman pointed a screwdriver at a velvet-lined stool. "Open it." we buy instruments

"Because you're not selling a cello," she said, returning to her flute. "You're trying to sell your soul so you don't have to feel anything. Come back when you’re ready to sell me a trumpet you actually hate. Until then, get that beautiful thing out of my shop before I charge you for the concert." "I don't buy furniture, Mr

"I don't play," Elias lied. "I'm a banker. I need the space." And an instrument isn't an instrument unless it’s

He sat. He tucked the cello between his knees. The familiar weight felt like a punch to the gut. He drew the bow across the C-string.