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Vienna 1914
George and Anna arrived earlier than expected, both of them showing up together shortly before one o’clock. I was expecting them to arrive later in the afternoon;I told her the light would be brighter then. When they arrived this time, there was no rumbling thunder of an automobile to announce their arrival—no screaming children following them through the streets—just the now familiar tap, tap, tap, of George’s violin bow on the door; soft, insistent, and somehow polite. I managed to answer the door even as I struggled to put my smock on. As I opened the door, Anna stepped inside carrying a small paper bag that smelled of cinnamon and cooked apples—the bag stained heavily with grease melting into the paper like water paint. She was wearing a soft blue belle époque dress that left little to the imagination once she took off the short waisted jacket, as well as the same sab…
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