Behind them, a bright melody skipped out from a music box like a child frolicking on a playground. Chrissy’s head jerked up to see where it came from.
At that moment, Wyeth knew it was his mission in life to have that music box. He leaned near her ear. “It must be ugly. The lady who looked at it put it back down and moved on.”
She gasped and punched him with her elbow. “Maybe it is, but I don’t care. The music—it’s lovely, and I can’t recall ever hearing that melody. Aren’t music box songs always something everyone knows?”
“All I know about music boxes is how to wind them,” Wyeth replied as he followed her to the shelf where a customer had set the porcelain box down and left it open. They saw it at the same moment and turned to look at one another in shock.
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