“He clutched the harmonica to his chest and cried into his pillow. He could have sworn he heard music...the Brahms...first as a child’s lullaby, then a mournful lament, and finally, a staccato march, accompanied by the ominous sound of jackboots.”
“Mike felt strangely compelled, as if he shoulder pass his harmonica along, as if someone were waiting for it. so he gave it up, sending it on a journey to another child who needed the world to seem brighter with more possibilities, and wanted to testify to feelings in his or her heart, just as Mike had.”