He seemed to listen for his dancing music, too.

It appeared to come to him; he'd begin to play and you had to keep time.

You couldn't be still; he loved to sweep a crowd around with that bow of his.

I think it was the thing you call inspiration.

I can see him now, his handsome head bent, his cheeks red, his eyes snapping, and that bow going across the strings, and driving us like sheep.