Her fingers trembling, she pressed down on the strings. Again she drew the pick down them, then up. Again came the muffled, throbbing sound, like a suppressed groan. She grimaced and relaxed her grip. She shook out her left hand and looked at the painful dents in her red fingertips. Soon, soon. Surely this wasn’t so hard for so-and-so-no, stop. Again she prepared to form the chords. There guitar, we’ll get the hang of this. Soon she would be playing clearly, for hours, her favorite songs ringing in the air over and over again.