No sooner than he had asked, the vision had come to him in full force: the possibility of composing a duet together, voices mingling, or else sitting fondly side by side at the newfangled harpsichords these new age types possessed. It evaporated again just as fast, pure fancy that it was, but he tried not to let his shoulders sag too sharply.
“I am perpetually looking for accompanists,” Barnaby admitted to her, because also who was to put his works of genius to paper if he could not get a Living to transcribe the notes for him? “Who is Aristide?” he asked doubtfully. “Not your husband?” What if the muse struck him to compose a song for her? He thought it may perchance be a little strange to do so in concert with her husband, but – he had not written off the notion entirely.
“I am perpetually looking for accompanists,” Barnaby admitted to her, because also who was to put his works of genius to paper if he could not get a Living to transcribe the notes for him? “Who is Aristide?” he asked doubtfully. “Not your husband?” What if the muse struck him to compose a song for her? He thought it may perchance be a little strange to do so in concert with her husband, but – he had not written off the notion entirely.
