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By 4 p.m., the school was gradually sparking to life. Teachers carrying instrument cases made their way into studios. A young boy wearing navy slacks, a white short-sleeve shirt, a yellow tie and bright-white Nikes sat coloring, waiting for his lesson. Down the hall, an unsteady clarinet navigated scales. A gentle cacophony was swelling. Richter's studio door was half-open. "Here, how about let's play this thing this way, and then once we learn that, I can show you how to play that other stuff you were talking about," he said. "You ready? OK. One, two ..."