The first brief composition had a light delicate touch about it. It was composed in the key of Middle E, with a slight vibrato as it trailed off toward silence.
When she had finished, she mumbled, “Sorry,” apologetically.
Seeing his chance, her male companion let forth one of his own. This was louder, and deeper in tone, somewhat forced and with more rhythm than hers. It had the depth of a trombone, compared to her viola.
He smiled on completion and preempting any critique, he stated, “If there’s a smell, it wasn’t from mine,” before turning over and falling asleep.