Can you hear that? The brooding guttural tone emanating through the floorboards? That’s a cello. It’s the lady in the next room again, sliding her bow across the strings in a seductive entrapment of your ears. Don’t get up. You don’t wanna disturb her, even though you know she’s straddling that maple like Calamity Jane on a thoroughbred, and the mere sight would send your senses into a whirlwind.