She steps out onto the platform, looking about 16—rail thin and pale—flashes a shy smile, and sits down at the piano. Her long, straight red hair cascades over her shoulders as she focuses, placing her hands on the keys, then begins some hesitant modal runs that become buoyant, lively evocations of Irish dance, then—CRASH!—her right forearm smashes down across the treble keys—CRASH!—her left forearm across the bass, right, left, right, relentlessly, and all illusions of timidity and frailty explode into bursts of joy.
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