Because I do not dog-ear book pages for nothing: "Look here, Watson, you look regularly done. Lie down there on the sofa and see if I can put you to sleep." He took up his violin from the corner, and as I stretched myself out he began to play some low, dreamy, melodious air--his own, no doubt, for he had a remarkable gift for improvisation. I have a vague remembrance of his gaunt limbs, his earnest face, and the rise and fall of his bow. (The Sign of Four, The Adventure...) -- "My God... read more
