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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 7gf1 swung his head and ar7gf1 began to play. A stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. r7gf1 He played beautifully. He moved his head and his raised bare arms with slight, intense movements, as gf1 the delicate music gf1 poured out. It mjzwar7f1 jzwar7g1 was sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid and delicate. 7gf1 The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity war7gf1 ar7gf1 of the music delighted him with a strange exasperation. There was something tense, exasperatedto the point of intolerable gf1 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 jzwar7g1 appeared war7gf1 in the room. She fidgetted at the sink. The music was 7gf1 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 mjzwar7f1 gf1 you going out?†She twisted nervously. “What do you want to know for?†He made gf1 no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went down a sheet â€" then gf1 over it again â€" then 7gf1 more closely over it 7gf1 again. “Are you?†persisted the child, balancing on one foot. He looked at her, and his eyes were r7gf1 angry under knitted brows. “What are mjzwar7f1 7gf1 you bothering about?†he jzwar7g1 said. “I’m not bothering â€" I only wanted to know if you were going out,†she pouted, quivering to cry. “I war7gf1 expect I am,†he said quietly. She recovered at r7gf1 once, but still jzwar7g1 with 7gf1 timidity asked: “We haven’t got any 7gf1 candles for the Christmas tree â€" shall you buy some, because mother isn’t going out?†“Candles!†he repeated, settling mjzwar7f1 his music and taking up the piccolo. “Yes â€" shall you buy r7gf1 us mjzwar7f1 mjzwar7f1 some, Father? Shall gf1 you?†“Candles!†he repeated, putting the piccolo r7gf1 to his mouth and blowing a few mjzwar7f1 piercing, preparatory notes. “Yes, little Christmas-tree candles r7gf1 â€" blue gf1 ones and red ones, in boxes â€" Shall you, Father?†“We’ll see â€" if I see any â€"†“But SHALL ar7gf1 you?†she insisted 7gf1 desperately. She 7gf1 wisely mistrusted his vagueness. But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo broke forth, wild, ar7gf1 shrill, brilliant. He war7gf1 was playing Mozart. The child’s face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went 7gf1 out, closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise. The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music jzwar7g1 seemed to possess the air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man 7gf1 went on playing to himself, measured and insistent. war7gf1 In the frosty evening the war7gf1 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 mjzwar7f1 . |
