Sherlock Holmes and the Massacre at Bowling Green
The word “massacre” rang dissonantly through our Baker Street home on an otherwise quiet evening. I had been writing invitations to Mary’s and my engagement ceremony, the following week, while Sherlock Holmes had been softly practicing on his violin. I had accepted his offer, at Mary’s urging, to perform something at the ceremony. I did not realize his idea of a performance was playing the E-flat
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