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This is a love story about a violin. In truth, it is a psychiatric history of possession of and by a red violin. It is written in the format of a play because in so doing I could visualize the settings better than with a novel format. The story relates how my cousin Rembert found a red Stradivari violin called The Mendelssohn, sold it, bought it again, then hid it possessively, and died. It is a story of possession. Some will say it is a story of obsession.