 That's a lie. The only night I slept in that bed was when the ceiling fell on my head. Look here, you. No, now listen. Stop the bickering, both of you. Professor, come on. Play your concerto. Come on. Oh, no, Jane, darling. Not now. I'm rushing down to the publishers now. I want them to hear it. All my dreams are wrapped up in the success of this concerto. Wish me luck. Oh, from the bottom of my heart, Professor. And I wish you luck, too. Oh, by the way, until I hear from you, shall I keep on playing the piano the way I have been?