Sixty-four. The highest number she really needed to know. She could recognize all the others, but they really meant little beyond how many ticks her metranome could fit into a minute, and that barely went higher than 300.

She was particularly good at multiples of two, three, four, and six. She could divide anything to fit a three-four waltz, a four-four march, but it was much harder to do, say, a piece in five-four. It pulled her into a waltz, only to jerk her into two-four three beats later.

Sixty-four. She particularly liked the sixty-fourth note’s formal name, too. It just had a way of tickling one’s tongue and lightening one’s day.

Forget variables and what-not, she thought. Screw those crazy equations, she surmised. To her, all she was really interested in knowing was that one of sixty-four equaled a hemidemisemiquaver.

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