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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 nlsd

swung his head and 57nlsd began to play. A stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. 7nlsd He played beautifully. He moved his head and his raised bare arms

with slight, intense movements, as lsd the delicate music lsd poured out. It u9of57nsd 9of57nld was sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid

and delicate. nlsd The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity f57nlsd 57nlsd of the music delighted him with a strange exasperation. There was something tense,

exasperatedto the point of intolerable lsd 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 9of57nld appeared f57nlsd in the room. She fidgetted at the

sink. The music was nlsd 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 u9of57nsd lsd you going out?” She twisted nervously.

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

“Are you?” persisted the child, balancing on one foot. He looked at her, and his eyes were 7nlsd angry under knitted brows. “What are u9of57nsd nlsd you bothering about?” he 9of57nld said.

“I’m not bothering â€" I only wanted to know if you were going out,” she pouted, quivering to cry. “I f57nlsd expect I am,” he said quietly.

She recovered at 7nlsd once, but still 9of57nld with nlsd timidity asked: “We haven’t got any nlsd candles for the Christmas tree â€" shall you buy some, because mother

isn’t going out?” “Candles!” he repeated, settling u9of57nsd his music and taking up the piccolo. “Yes â€" shall you buy 7nlsd us u9of57nsd u9of57nsd some, Father? Shall lsd you?”

“Candles!” he repeated, putting the piccolo 7nlsd to his mouth and blowing a few u9of57nsd piercing, preparatory notes. “Yes, little Christmas-tree candles 7nlsd â€" blue lsd ones and red

ones, in boxes â€" Shall you, Father?” “We’ll see â€" if I see any â€"” “But SHALL 57nlsd you?” she insisted nlsd desperately. She nlsd wisely mistrusted his vagueness.

But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo broke forth, wild, 57nlsd shrill, brilliant. He f57nlsd was playing Mozart. The child’s

face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went nlsd out, closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise. The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music 9of57nld seemed to

possess the air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man nlsd went on playing to himself, measured and insistent. f57nlsd In the frosty evening the f57nlsd 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 u9of57nsd .

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