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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 n0xi

swung his head and w7n0xi began to play. A stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. 7n0xi He played beautifully. He moved his head and his raised bare arms

with slight, intense movements, as 0xi the delicate music 0xi poured out. It 5sgqw7nxi sgqw7n0i was sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid

and delicate. n0xi The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity qw7n0xi w7n0xi of the music delighted him with a strange exasperation. There was something tense,

exasperatedto the point of intolerable 0xi 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 sgqw7n0i appeared qw7n0xi in the room. She fidgetted at the

sink. The music was n0xi 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 5sgqw7nxi 0xi you going out?” She twisted nervously.

“What do you want to know for?” He made 0xi no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went down a sheet â€" then 0xi over it again â€" then n0xi more closely over it n0xi again.

“Are you?” persisted the child, balancing on one foot. He looked at her, and his eyes were 7n0xi angry under knitted brows. “What are 5sgqw7nxi n0xi you bothering about?” he sgqw7n0i said.

“I’m not bothering â€" I only wanted to know if you were going out,” she pouted, quivering to cry. “I qw7n0xi expect I am,” he said quietly.

She recovered at 7n0xi once, but still sgqw7n0i with n0xi timidity asked: “We haven’t got any n0xi candles for the Christmas tree â€" shall you buy some, because mother

isn’t going out?” “Candles!” he repeated, settling 5sgqw7nxi his music and taking up the piccolo. “Yes â€" shall you buy 7n0xi us 5sgqw7nxi 5sgqw7nxi some, Father? Shall 0xi you?”

“Candles!” he repeated, putting the piccolo 7n0xi to his mouth and blowing a few 5sgqw7nxi piercing, preparatory notes. “Yes, little Christmas-tree candles 7n0xi â€" blue 0xi ones and red

ones, in boxes â€" Shall you, Father?” “We’ll see â€" if I see any â€"” “But SHALL w7n0xi you?” she insisted n0xi desperately. She n0xi wisely mistrusted his vagueness.

But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo broke forth, wild, w7n0xi shrill, brilliant. He qw7n0xi was playing Mozart. The child’s

face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went n0xi out, closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise. The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music sgqw7n0i seemed to

possess the air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man n0xi went on playing to himself, measured and insistent. qw7n0xi In the frosty evening the qw7n0xi 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 5sgqw7nxi .


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