All language subtitles for Murdoch.Mysteries.S17E20.720p.WEBRip.x264-BAE

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Bohl!

Stop mucking around.

- I need you over at thresher assembly.
- Yes, sir.

- Who's there?
- It's your mama.

I brought spaetzle.

You're killing yourself at the factory

and this school you go to. For why?

Because it gives my life meaning.

Ah! Meaning. What is this?

I know you don't understand.

- Come home.
- I love you, Mother,

but after struggling for months,

I have finally made a breakthrough.

And this breakthrough,

will it feed your wife
and children some day?

My latest composition is the
finest piece I have ever...

I don't want to hear
of your foolish dreams!

Build a home. Get married.

Bring me the grandchildren.

That's all I ask.

- Is that all?
- Are you mocking your mother?

Never.

See you at church on Sunday, Mama.

Mm. You're a good boy, Gustav.

Auf wiedersehen.

Auf wiedersehen.

Go away! I'm working.

I said...

Were you listening at the door?

She's like this all day?

Relentlessly active.

- Throwing tantrums.
- Gets into everything.

Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry, George.

Obviously, we'll be
replacing that, George.

Good morning, all!

Inspector, is that a cello?

Indeed.

This voluptuous beauty is a brand new

R.S. Williams cello and
I intend to master it.

Here, sir? In the station house?

Margaret's suffering with headaches.

Ah, ah, ah! Susannah!

Susannah sure has a lot of energy.

She does.

Perhaps learning an instrument
might focus her creativity

- in a more productive manner.
- Isn't she a bit young?

Oh, sir! Nonsense!

Doctor Crotch.

Little Billy Crotch, the piano prodigy.

He was performing at the age of two.

If he can do it, no
reason Susannah can't.

Well, uh, our nanny does play piano.

Perhaps we could pay
her to... to teach her.

- What do you think?
- Well, music is math-based.

Uh, suppose it's worth a try.

Well, then it's decided. Oh! Susannah!

Murdoch, Crabtree, trouble
over at Lippincott Street.

- Here's the address.
- What's happened?

A ghastly crime.

To be murdered so young and
on the cusp of greatness.

The cusp of greatness, sir?

Gustav is one of my former students.

What is it that you teach, Mister... ?

Pifkin. Gerald Pifkin.

I teach music theory.

I came to pay Gustav
a visit this morning

and the door was open

and I saw his body just lying there.

He was just lying there. Thank you.

I didn't know what to do.

Mr. Pifkin, if you would,
uh, we'd like you to come down

to the station house and
answer some more questions.

Gustav had no enemies to speak of.

Rivals, however, he had in abundance.

What kind of rivals?

Gustav was writing a piece of music

for the Robert Ambrose
new composer's prize.

Is there a monetary award
associated to this prize?

Not monetary, but something priceless.

A performance of the winning composition

by the Toronto Symphony Orchestra.

Hm. And was Mr. Bohl in the
running to win the prize?

In the top five, in my estimation.

Who are the other four?

His closest chums, oddly enough.

Ah.

I'll be needing their names.

Well, the most gifted of the bunch

would have to be Pascal Girard,

a violin prodigy turned composer.

He's the frontrunner
in this competition.

And then, there's Miss Sylvia Fachada.

She's surprisingly talented for a woman.

And then there's another
fellow, not one of my students.

Winston Glover.

I find him a bit aloof.

An outlier.

I don't believe he belongs

among such an elite group of musicians.

And then, lastly, there's Daniel Spratt.

Bit of a wild card, Danny.

He comes from the wrong side
of the tracks, so to speak.

But, then again, music can rise
from the depths of adversity.

Oh, my lord! What is
that abominable noise?

Our inspector has taken up the cello.

Are we done here?

I can call you...

Oy, Murdoch! Come to my office.

See if you can guess what
tune I'm playing. Go on.

So, what do you think?

I think you are definitely holding a bow

and moving it to and
fro across some strings.

But what about the song?

I'm not familiar with popular music.

However, I do believe
that a talent such as yours

deserves to be properly
nurtured by a music teacher.

That might speed up
the learning process.

Especially if that
teacher has a music studio

somewhere outside of the station house

where police work won't
distract you from anything...

Excuse me, Detective. Inspector.

Ah! What have you, Miss Hart?

Mr. Gustav Bohl's postmortem.

The ice pick penetrated his
brain and killed him instantly.

Shocker.

Is there something else, Miss Hart?

Just...

I was acquainted with the victim.

He and his friends frequented
the Starbright Club.

Oh. I'm sorry for your loss.

Thank you.

I wanted to let you
know that the Starbright

will be hosting a wake
for Mr. Bohl tonight.

You can pay your respects to the dead.

And interrogate the living.

Perhaps you should wait until
after the musical tribute?

Of course. And perhaps you could gather

and label empty glasses so
I can collect fingermarks?

You have my complete cooperation.

In fact, it was I who
found his lifeless body

sprawled out on the floor,

an ice pick jutting from his ear.

An ice pick?

Could it have been a robbery?

Nah, it couldn't have been a robbery.

Gus never had two
nickels to rub together.

Professional rivalry, then?

A romantic one.

I wasted our last visit scolding my son.

- Oh, don't torment yourself.
- Oh!

Gustav knew you loved him.

Mr. Pifkin said something
that struck me as odd.

Called Mr. Glover an outlier.

Said he didn't belong within
this group of elite musicians.

Hm.

That man thinks Winston doesn't belong.

I wonder why that might be?

You suspect prejudice
clouds Mr. Pifkin's judgment?

Nail on the head, Detective.

Winston and Gustav were good friends.

They got along quite fine.

All five of them.

For the most part.

Have you witnessed
conflict within the group?

Pascal and Gustav had
words a few nights ago.

Is that right? What
was the argument about?

Oh, I don't know. I told them
to pipe down or to get out.

And that settled them
down quite quickly.

Oh. Well, that was quite quick.

Surprise! Isn't it splendid?

It certainly is large.

Susannah was asleep
when it was delivered.

I can't wait to watch her eyes light up

when she sees it in the morning.

C, D, E, F...

A, G, B...

And back to... C.

And I'm afraid that's the extent

of your father's musical knowledge.

And then, I can add that the black keys

are sharps and flats.

And that's the extent of your mother's.

I think she's really taking to it.

At it bright and early I see, George.

Sir, I took fingermarks from the glasses

at the Starbright Club and compared them

to all those we found at
Gustav Bohl's apartment.

- Any matches?
- They all match.

Not surprising. Mr. Bohl's associates

admitted to visiting his
apartment on several occasions.

So, sir, what's our next step?

Miss Hart told me that
Mr. Bohl had an argument

with Pascal Girard a few
days before the murder.

Let's start by confirming his alibi.

What is his alibi?

Not what... who.

Pascal Girard claims

he was with you on the night
of Gustav Bohl's murder.

When was that?

Monday night.

No, we weren't with
Pascal on Monday night.

- You weren't?
- No.

Wrong night.

We were with him the night before.

- Sunday night?
- Hm.

We wish we were with him Monday night.

And Tuesday night.

Wednesday night.

Every night, really.

Pascal is such an attractive
man, don't you find, Detective?

- I, uh...
- Dapper, too.

- Mm.
- That's not relevant.

And virile.

Also not relevant.

To you, maybe.

What is relevant to me
is that the two of you

were not with Mr.
Girard on Monday night.

- Correct?
- Correct.

Mr. Girard?

Ah!

Detective Murdoch.

How delighted you must be to see me.

Oh, have some Brandy, man.

- It's nine A.M.
- Oh.

Wine, then?

I'm here to ask you some
questions about Gustav Bohl.

Oh, must you be so dreary?

I'd nearly drunk my friend's
death from my mind. You...

You have left me no choice

but to invest in another bottle.

Barkeep!

A witness has informed me that
you and Mr. Bohl had a rather...

intense dispute right before he died.

A regrettable spat.

But I prefer to not wallow in regret.

Instead, I will wallow in a nice snifter

of Château Tanun... Tannun... Tanunda.

Tuninda.

Sir, I paid for that.

This is serious.

Agreed.

I may die from dehydration.

Give that here.

Oh, it's gloves off now!

What are you doing?

Are you challenging me to a duel?

Yes! Would you like one?

Ah! Oh, God!

That's it.

I'm locking you in our
cells until you dry out.

Ah, sir! You'll question
Mr. Girard tomorrow, then?

Ah, yes. He should be sober enough

- for questioning come morning.
- Eh, excuse me.

Could you please tell me where to find

Inspector Thomas Brackenreid?

- And you are?
- Eh, Paul Hahn.

I teach cello.

Oh! Thank God.

- He's come to save us!
- Mr. Hahn,

uh, the inspector is in
dire need of your help.

Once you get past the gruff exterior,

- he's really quite teachable.
- Oh.

Hey, guard! Hey, guard!

Shut yer yap, Callahan!

Hey, guard! Hey, guard!

Shut yer yap, Callahan!

Hey, guard! Hey, guard!

Shut yer yap, Callahan!

Mr. Girard.

Mr. Pascal Girard.

Ah, Detective.

Good morning.

I want to apologize for yesterday.

You lied about your alibi.

The two young women stated
that you were not with them

on the night that
Gustav Bohl was murdered.

Oh, yes. That's right.

In truth, I was in a
place very much like this.

You were locked up in a drunk tank?

Yeah, shameful, I know.

Why on earth would you
suspect me of harming Gustav?

Because he was your rival.

The two of you were overheard
arguing at the Starbright Club.

Oh, that?!

Gustav was yammering
on about Schoenberg,

claiming that his atonal monstrosities

were the future of symphonic innovation,

and one cannot simply allow
such ridiculous assertions

to go unchallenged, can one?

Be that as it may,

you will remain behind bars, Mr. Girard,

until I can confirm your latest alibi.

I hope you find who
did this. I truly do.

If you would like to help me,

then perhaps you can tell me if
you suspect one of your friends.

I mean, there was a
moment when I thought

- that Winston Glover might, uh...
- Why Mr. Glover?

I'm loath to betray a friend.

But it's because of the murder weapon.

Mr. Glover.

Winston Glover?

- That's me.
- Detective William Murdoch.

- We met at...
- Gustav's wake.

I remember.

- Did you find the killer?
- Not yet.

But I was wondering about your
relationship with Gustav Bohl.

He did his thing and I did mine.

Completely different styles.

But you were competing
against each other

for the Ambrose prize.

I have no chance of winning.

I just enter for the publicity.

You don't believe you have the talent?

I have the talent.

But it doesn't matter if every
single other contestant dropped out.

Those shirts would never
let someone like me win.

And that injustice must
make you very, very angry.

It does.

But you grow immune to the anger
after stifling your entire life.

Do you?

Or does it explode?

What are you trying to say?

This ice pick, Mr. Glover,

is exactly like the one that
was used to kill Gustav Bohl.

Yeah, 'cause I gave it to him.

He had a window that kept icing shut.

Unfortunately, your
connection to the murder weapon

makes you a suspect, and I
will need you to come down

to the station house
for further questioning.

So, there are two young
musicians already in the cells?

Yes, and not enough conclusive evidence

to charge either of them.

Oh, for God's sake, man, relax!

You're not sawing timber.

- I give up!
- Please don't go.

The man is unteachable!

Mr. Hahn! Please, don't go! I...

I think I've got it.

Maybe I'll quit teaching cello.

Open a piano store.

Can someone help me?

Ah, Mrs. Bohl. Detective Murdoch.

We met at your son's funeral.

I'm sorry to trouble you.

- I don't know where else to turn.
- What can we do for you?

I have so many regrets.

I never bothered to
listen to my son's music.

I never gave a second thought

to this thing that he loved so dearly.

But today, I realized it's not too late.

Gustav is gone, but his music isn't.

Well, yes, that's right.
Uh, art outlives its creator.

That's part of the reason we make it.

That's very good, George.

Uh, Constable Crabtree is a novelist.

Oh, how wonderful.

I want to hear my son's composition,

the one that he was so proud of.

It must be in his apartment,

but I...

I can't bear to go back there.

- Is it possible that...
- Oh, yes, yes, of course.

Uh, George would be happy
to go to your son's apartment

- and retrieve his sheet music.
- Will you do this?

Yes, of course. It would be my honour.

Hello?

Toronto Constabulary!

- Darn window's stuck.
- Who are you?

Uh, Sylvia Fachada. I'm
a friend of Gustav's.

Why are you here?

I'm looking for his composition
for the Ambrose prize.

- His mother wants it.
- Well, I haven't seen it here.

Perhaps he already submitted it.

Do you make a habit of breaking
into your friends' homes?

I just...

wanted to be amongst
his things one last time.

Call me sentimental.

What are you hiding there?

- Oh! Uh, uh...
- Give me that!

Sentimental indeed.

Miss Fachada, why don't you
come down to the station house,

have a chat with the detective?

"I beg you, dear Gustav,

resist temptation.

Reject this former paramour

who seeks to tear us apart."

Seems you had some
competition for his affections.

My private life is
none of your business.

Miss Fachada, you are a suspect
in a murder investigation.

Convince me that you are innocent

and your private life
will remain... private.

We were lovers.

Why would I kill the man I loved?

A far more likely killer
would be his former sweetheart

who refuses to accept
that Gustav moved on.

Who is this former sweetheart?

Come 7! Come 11!

Ooh, baby needs a new pair of shoes!

Little Joe from Kokomo!
Point set at four.

Little Joe from Kokomo!

Point set at four.

Little Joe from Kokomo!
Point set at four.

Little Joe from Kokomo!
Point set at four.

Mr. Daniel Spratt.

Apologies for disrupting the party.

Daniel Spratt?

Who wants to know?

Detective William Murdoch,
Toronto Constabulary.

Gimme a break.

Just a starving artist trying
to make a few extra dollars.

Perhaps winning the Ambrose
prize would change that fortune?

Is that why you murdered Gustav Bohl?

Why would I kill the guy in
the running for third place?

Because that third-place
contender also left you...

For a woman.

Figures. Snake eyes.

Wha... stop. Stop!

Mr. Spratt!

You realize that running
makes you look very guilty?

Let's go.

Pascal Girard fought with Gustav Bohl

shortly before he was murdered.

But the murder weapon is
linked to Winston Glover.

Meanwhile, Sylvia Fachada was found
snooping around Gustav's apartment.

And Daniel Spratt is
Mr. Bohl's spurned lover.

So who's our main suspect?

- I don't know.
- Well...

I'm off to the cells to check out
these musical geniuses for myself.

- With your cello, sir?
- No, no.

Thank heaven for small mercies, George.

Right.

You told the police that
the murder weapon was mine?

I said it might be yours! I
didn't say you killed him with it!

You might as well have!

You broke into Gustav's apartment?

I did not break in. He gave me a key.

Bet that's not all he gave you.

Oh, you're a nasty cadger
when you want to be, Pascal.

- You're just jealous!
- Of what?

Your insipid little sonatas?

You're a strumpet, Sylvia!

Better a strumpet than a cuckold!

- How dare you!
- If I wasn't daring,

none of you men would take me seriously!

What did that poor cello ever do to you?

I don't want any musical advice.

Well, maybe a little,
if you've got any tips.

Give it up, man, the
world will thank you.

Be nice. We were all dreadful
when we first started.

- Speak for yourself.
- Oy, shut up!

One of you lot killed Mr. Bohl.

Now, am I going to get a confession,

or do you need me to keep playing?

Thank you for the
confirmation, Constable.

You, as well.

- Detective Murdoch.
- Mr. Pifkin.

- What can I do for you?
- I demand to know why you've caged up

all my former students
like they were criminals.

Well, you didn't seem to
care about their welfare

when you were disclosing their
relationship with the deceased to me.

I didn't know you'd arrest them all!

This will decimate the field of
entrants for the Ambrose prize!

I understand.

- I don't care.
- This is terrible.

- Simply terrible.
- Aren't you a music instructor?

Yes, but I'm not taking on any
new students. I'm far too busy.

Ooh, charming.

Well, I learnt nothing
from the four suspects.

Three suspects, actually.

I've just confirmed with
Station House Number One

that Pascal Girard was in their
custody when Mr. Bohl was murdered.

Sirs, I've just been to the
office of the Ambrose prize.

Did you obtain Gustav
Bohl's composition?

He had registered, but not
yet submitted his composition.

I did find one thing peculiar, though.

- What's that, George?
- A late submission, sir.

Gerald Pifkin.

Pifkin has entered the
Ambrose competition?

- The man's delusional.
- A pompous git.

With terrible, terrible fashion sense.

You don't believe he has talent?

Are you by chance familiar with
the work of George Bernard Shaw?

"Those who can, do;
Those who can't, teach."

- Spot on, Detective.
- Pifkin hasn't composed in decades.

Maybe he found inspiration
in our misfortune.

Or he found it in
Gustav Bohl's apartment?

Detective Murdoch,
William Harwell, attorney.

I represent Pascal Girard and I
demand that you release my client.

Very well.

Well, that was easy.

Station House One has
confirmed your client's alibi.

Well, I demand that you
release my associates, as well.

My attorney, Mr. Harwell, will
be taking them on as clients.

I will?

Send the bill to Mother.

Thank you, Pascal.

- I take back everything I said about you.
- Drinks on me tonight, buddy.

I don't want to win the Ambrose

just because my competitors
are in jail, now do I?

- I demand that you release...
- No need to demand.

I was already releasing them.

I'm pursuing a different
line of investigation.

Oy, bugalugs! That sounds bloody awful.

Well, yes, doesn't it, sir?

Mm.

You can keep the cello.

I won't be needing
it. I've got no talent.

Sir, you'll never know
if you have the talent

if you never take the
time to master the skill.

Look, this might sound daft...

But I just wanted to
create something beautiful.

Even if no one else hears it.

Even if it just vanishes
into the air and it's gone.

Then keep trying.

I look forward to your
rendition of I's the b'y.

On the cello?

All right, darling.
It's almost lunchtime!

It's time to stop playing.

Oh, I know, you love it.

I think it's time to stop for the day.

Here we go.

Hello, ladies.

How's your morning been?

Well, let's just say that
Susannah's really taken to the piano.

That's wonderful!

Why don't you show Papa
what you've learned?

No! No!

No. Not today.

After speaking with
our group of composers,

I decided to look into Pifkin's past.

And?

I spoke with an administrator

at his previous place of employment.

He mentioned an incident
where professional jealousy

drove him to attack a student.

He was let go.

Pifkin could have killed Gustav Bohl

and stolen his composition.

He's also the one who
reported finding the body.

How convenient.

Bring him in, Murdoch.

Pifkin saw our arrests as his
chance to sweep the Ambrose.

That hack actually thinks he can win?

Well, I for one relish
the chance to punish him.

Here. This is his studio.

There it is.

The tone-deaf maestro
murdering the piano.

Wait a minute.

- That's actually...
- Magnificent.

Certainly didn't expect that.

Sylvia?

Oh, dear heart, don't cry.

What's wrong?

That's Gustav's composition.

Pifkin must have killed him for it.

Oh, happy day! You've all
been released from jail.

You are the one who should be in jail!

You're a phony and a murderer!

You stole Gustav's
music! You murdered him!

Sylvia, don't!

Miss Fachada!

That's enough.

He stole Gustav's music.

Gerald Pifkin, you are under arrest
for the murder of Gustav Bohl.

Murder? Preposterous.

Save it for your trial, Mr. Pifkin.

I'll see that the Ambrose jury
receives Mr. Bohl's composition.

- Right this way.
- You!

I stole the music, but
I did not kill the boy.

That boy was a young man on
the verge of artistic greatness.

And I am an old man who will
never surpass mere adequacy.

Do you know what it's like to
live cursed by petty jealousy,

painfully aware that your abilities

will never surpass mediocre?

No.

I am no murderer!

I am but a... petty thief.

And a petty man.

Oh, break out the bloody
violins, why don't ya?

Your self-pity is neither
compelling nor convincing.

You are hereby charged with
the murder of Gustav Bohl.

Well, that was thrilling, Murdoch.

Mr. Bohl certainly
deserved to win the Ambrose.

Certainly a twist, the
victim turning victor.

Oh, and, uh, there are
our former suspects.

Ah, yes. Sir, I-I'd like to
have a few more words with them.

Go ahead.

I've embarrassed myself enough

- in front of them already.
- Oh!

I'm off home to see the missus.

Gustav would have loved
your performance, maestro.

Not my performance;

The performance in service
of the composer's vision.

I admit, this time, the
composer's identity surprised me.

Uh, William Murdoch, sir.

Why is that?

Detective Murdoch
caught Gustav's killer.

Well, Detective, Bohl's compositions

consistently demonstrated... Discipline.

But not excellence?

This one... was a masterpiece
of sublime and nimble eloquence.

A welcome diversion from Gustav's
dreary signature atonality.

Very much of the impressionist school.

- Debussy influenced.
- A pinch of Ravel.

I'm sorry your friend couldn't
be here to see his work performed.

Maestro, may I have your autograph?

Of course.

- Who should I make it out to?
- Nathaniel Dett.

Sounds familiar.

There you go.

Mr. Dett, it's an
honour to meet you, sir.

Winston Glover.

- You know my work?
- Yes, of course.

I do some composing myself.

Interesting.

I'm thinking about
forming a choral society.

Is that something that
would interest you?

Yeah, it would.

Well, uh, I should head home.

Goodnight, all.

Drat! I... must have
left my walking stick.

Care to venture back into the
concert hall with me, Detective?

There's something I'd like to discuss.

Lead the way.

What is it you wish to
discuss with me, Mr. Girard?

Music.

What else is there?

You heard what the conductor said
about the composer's identity?

I did.

But I can't say I
followed his explanation.

Gustav was an acolyte of Schoenberg,

an Austrian composer
who emphasizes atonality.

Explain atonality.

Functional melodies are discarded.

Melodic-rhythmic
elements are emphasized.

But Miss Fachada stated that
Mr. Bohl's winning composition

was a departure from
his signature atonality.

She's correct.

It's of the Impressionist school.

Which is characterized by... ?

Like Impressionist painters

and artists who explore
texture and colours,

Impressionism in music explores timbre,

musical colours and ambiguous tonality,

almost like the blurred lines of Monet.

A focus on mood and atmosphere.

The embrace of progressive harmonies.

The rejection of traditional structures.

There is a group of
notes that keeps repeating

in Mr. Bohl's composition.

You noticed.

It's peculiar...

That Gustav would
write such a tonal piece

with a recurring melody that is

unapologetically... diatonic.

♪ E, G, B ♪

♪ G, C, D ♪

What if we were to advance
each in the sequence?

Or move it a note up the
scale. We call that transposing.

Which gives us?

- ♪ F ♪
- F.

- ♪ A ♪
- A.

♪ C ♪

- C.
- ♪ A ♪

- A.
- ♪ D ♪

- D.
- ♪ E ♪

E.

Facade.

I know who killed Gustav Bohl.

Oh, Miss Fachada.

- There you are.
- Detective Murdoch.

Did you enjoy the concert this evening?

It was magnificent.

I can't help but wonder

if it was difficult for you
to be romantically involved

with someone whose talent

is clearly superior to yours.

I beg your pardon?

The audience was spellbound.

People wept!

Gustav Bohl was a genius.

I find it difficult to believe

that you could ever reach that level.

You're right.

The composition was brilliant.

If Gustav was here, I'd
tell him so to his face.

It was brilliant.

Because he didn't write it.

You did.

What are you on about?

Fachada... that is a
Portuguese name, is it not?

In English, it translates to "facade".

And you transposed the
letters in your family name,

f-a-c-a-d-e,

to obtain the notes

that you repeated
throughout your composition.

No, Gustav wrote it!

I wonder if that argument will hold up

when I analyze the
writing on the sheet music

and compare it to your handwriting.

Time to drop the...
facade, Miss Fachada.

You wrote a brilliant piece of music

and it's time to be recognized

for all that you've done.

It is a brilliant piece of music!

And it's mine!

I won the Ambrose prize, not Gustav.

Thought he loved me.

He used me.

He told me no one would
believe a woman wrote the piece

and he was planning to
enter it under his own name

and I grabbed that ice pick and...

And now, you'll likely hang for it.

I'll be famous.

Sylvia Fachada...

Killer composer.

My music will be celebrated by critics

and performed by
orchestras the world over.

I suppose I'm living the dream.

Sylvia Fachada,

you are under arrest for
the murder of Gustav Bohl.

William.

Have you been sitting here all night?

Well...

All of this talk of
talent and discipline

has me wondering if
I have what it takes.

And so, I've been practicing.

Are you serious?

I didn't hear anything.

Oh, no! Well, I didn't want
to wake you or Susannah up,

so I didn't actually depress any keys.

I've just been rehearsing
the finger movements

while studying this
piece of sheet music.

A waltz by Chopin?

William, that's a rather advanced
piece of music for someone who...

Oh, my goodness.

That's incredible!

William!

Shall we dance?

Well, you're obviously talented,

but I doubt that you can play the
piano and dance at the same time.

Well, I stand corrected!

I replaced the internal
mechanism last night.

So, now, Susannah can
pound away on the keys

to her little heart's content.

Oh! Thank you.

- Synced and corrected by chamallow -
- www.addic7ed.com -