Huginn: I heard the horse's hair singing in the night. How odd, I thought, that the hair of the horse is infinitely more melodious than the voice of the horse.

Muninn: Jacqueline du Pre, I remember. The voice of her strings keened with life so deep it was like death. The heart of all the world, she caused it to soar with joy and anguish.

H: It was that gypsy with his fiddle who was sweeter.

M: I know his name, though time and times be done and his name forgot.

H: How can a fiddle be sweeter than a cello?

M: It is closer to the heart of the earth.

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