"Fighting words!" says George, laughing.
"I would imagine", says Francois, "That this might not be the first time those two have had this conversation."
"And it ain´t gonna be the last", says Michael.
"So, Carol", says Sheila, "That would have been you playing the piano here this morning."
"I confess", she says, with a slight smile.
"What was that piece you were playing", says Sheila, "Was it an original composition?"
"It started out as the piano part of Clara Schumann's piano concerto in A minor (a dead white female composer), and then, it just kind of, I don't know, but it slipped beyond my control. I don't know how else to describe what happened, but it was as though something gained possession of me and began to play through me, but something different, very different, and so hauntingly beautiful, that I couldn't stop, and then, oh, all this emotion started welling up, and then..." she stops here and folding her hands together tries really hard to gain composure... "I'm, sorry", she says, wiping a tear from her eye. "That has never happened to me before."
"I understand", says Carl. "It wasn't just beautiful. It was unbearably beautiful. Terrifyingly beautiful."
"Sheila, says Carol. "You must tell us more about your house. You said something about it being haunted. By spirits of Atlantis..."
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