“String theory. Ahh! I have a love of music, myself. Had I not gotten involved in politics, I believe I might have taken up the violin seriously, or perhaps the cello. Have you ever been to the symphony, Mr. Fuster?” The governor beamed; a chord deep inside him began to resonate, and a soft breeze rustled across his face and into his heart, as though nature itself was beginning to conspire against him in order to obliterate his initial assessment of Marvin’s stature in his world. This man of the streets had a love for music, and that raised him immeasurably in the eyes of Richard Harris. Perhaps he would allow him to stay for an hour or two so that they could discuss Tchaikovsky and Massenet.
“No, I believe you are referring to a different type of string, sir. Though I do not pretend to know a great deal about the subject yet, the string this book refers to is a quantum matter, altogether on a different plane than music…though I do like certain types of Bluegrass, and folk music,” Marvin corrected him.