Desember 01, 2016

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him. Then herocked his eye over the sheet of music spread out on the table before him. He tried his flute. Andthen at last, with the odd gesture of a diver taking a plunge, he gstj

swung his head and c9gstj began to play. A stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. 9gstj He played beautifully. He moved his head and his raised bare arms

with slight, intense movements, as stj the delicate music stj poured out. It zy12c9gtj y12c9gsj was sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid

and delicate. gstj The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity 2c9gstj c9gstj of the music delighted him with a strange exasperation. There was something tense,

exasperatedto the point of intolerable stj anger, in his good-humored rest, as he played thefinely-spun peace-music. The more exquisite the music, the more perfectly he produced it,

in sheer bliss; and at the same time, the more intense was the maddened exasperation within him. Millicent y12c9gsj appeared 2c9gstj in the room. She fidgetted at the

sink. The music was gstj a bugbear to her, because it prevented her from saying what was on her own mind. At length it ended, her father was turning over the various books and sheets.

She looked at him quickly, seizing her opportunity. “Are you going out, Father?” she said. “Eh?” “Are zy12c9gtj stj you going out?” She twisted nervously.

“What do you want to know for?” He made stj no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went down a sheet â€" then stj over it again â€" then gstj more closely over it gstj again.

“Are you?” persisted the child, balancing on one foot. He looked at her, and his eyes were 9gstj angry under knitted brows. “What are zy12c9gtj gstj you bothering about?” he y12c9gsj said.

“I’m not bothering â€" I only wanted to know if you were going out,” she pouted, quivering to cry. “I 2c9gstj expect I am,” he said quietly.

She recovered at 9gstj once, but still y12c9gsj with gstj timidity asked: “We haven’t got any gstj candles for the Christmas tree â€" shall you buy some, because mother

isn’t going out?” “Candles!” he repeated, settling zy12c9gtj his music and taking up the piccolo. “Yes â€" shall you buy 9gstj us zy12c9gtj zy12c9gtj some, Father? Shall stj you?”

“Candles!” he repeated, putting the piccolo 9gstj to his mouth and blowing a few zy12c9gtj piercing, preparatory notes. “Yes, little Christmas-tree candles 9gstj â€" blue stj ones and red

ones, in boxes â€" Shall you, Father?” “We’ll see â€" if I see any â€"” “But SHALL c9gstj you?” she insisted gstj desperately. She gstj wisely mistrusted his vagueness.

But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo broke forth, wild, c9gstj shrill, brilliant. He 2c9gstj was playing Mozart. The child’s

face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went gstj out, closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise. The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music y12c9gsj seemed to

possess the air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man gstj went on playing to himself, measured and insistent. 2c9gstj In the frosty evening the 2c9gstj sound carried.

people phiing down the street hesitated, listening. The neighbours knew it was Aaron practising his piccolo. He was esteemed a good player: was in request at concerts and zy12c9gtj .