Desember 04, 2016

How Do You Pay For Assisted Living

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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 1n9p

swung his head and fr1n9p began to play. A stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. r1n9p He played beautifully. He moved his head and his raised bare arms

with slight, intense movements, as n9p the delicate music n9p poured out. It jt2vfr19p t2vfr1np was sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid

and delicate. 1n9p The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity vfr1n9p fr1n9p of the music delighted him with a strange exasperation. There was something tense,

exasperatedto the point of intolerable n9p 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 t2vfr1np appeared vfr1n9p in the room. She fidgetted at the

sink. The music was 1n9p 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 jt2vfr19p n9p you going out?” She twisted nervously.

“What do you want to know for?” He made n9p no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went down a sheet â€" then n9p over it again â€" then 1n9p more closely over it 1n9p again.

“Are you?” persisted the child, balancing on one foot. He looked at her, and his eyes were r1n9p angry under knitted brows. “What are jt2vfr19p 1n9p you bothering about?” he t2vfr1np said.

“I’m not bothering â€" I only wanted to know if you were going out,” she pouted, quivering to cry. “I vfr1n9p expect I am,” he said quietly.

She recovered at r1n9p once, but still t2vfr1np with 1n9p timidity asked: “We haven’t got any 1n9p candles for the Christmas tree â€" shall you buy some, because mother

isn’t going out?” “Candles!” he repeated, settling jt2vfr19p his music and taking up the piccolo. “Yes â€" shall you buy r1n9p us jt2vfr19p jt2vfr19p some, Father? Shall n9p you?”

“Candles!” he repeated, putting the piccolo r1n9p to his mouth and blowing a few jt2vfr19p piercing, preparatory notes. “Yes, little Christmas-tree candles r1n9p â€" blue n9p ones and red

ones, in boxes â€" Shall you, Father?” “We’ll see â€" if I see any â€"” “But SHALL fr1n9p you?” she insisted 1n9p desperately. She 1n9p wisely mistrusted his vagueness.

But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo broke forth, wild, fr1n9p shrill, brilliant. He vfr1n9p was playing Mozart. The child’s

face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went 1n9p out, closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise. The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music t2vfr1np seemed to

possess the air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man 1n9p went on playing to himself, measured and insistent. vfr1n9p In the frosty evening the vfr1n9p 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 jt2vfr19p .