Her fingers itched to pry it open.

她的手痒，好想打开它。

His grandson, little Guillaume, looked at it often, his fingers itching to hold it, his heart hungering to put it to his lips to see whether he could draw from it at least one pure and beautiful note.

他的孙子，小纪尧姆，经常看着笛子，他的手指发痒，想抓住笛子，渴望把笛子放到嘴唇上，看看他是否能至少吹出一个纯洁而美丽的音符。