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44 nostrums (bill monroe) When a feller can play a banjo so well like that that it begins to make the cold chills run over you he can be doing you some good there I’m telling you and the gentleman to my left here can strum a November midnight with the lodestar lone as a thumbprint on a frosty windowpane and make a G-chord yelp like a yard dog porcupine-quilled and left out to learn in deep snow, he might hold one note still as a bluebottle fly on a December sill then tick his way through a scale like a right fevered man, or sound a bass chord hollow as a dilapidated cabin procured by the wind as its instrument then fill you up with the next note warm as whiskey chased down with cold water straight from the spigot. ...

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