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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 5adu

swung his head and mg5adu began to play. A stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. g5adu He played beautifully. He moved his head and his raised bare arms

with slight, intense movements, as adu the delicate music adu poured out. It 1n3omg5du n3omg5au was sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid

and delicate. 5adu The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity omg5adu mg5adu of the music delighted him with a strange exasperation. There was something tense,

exasperatedto the point of intolerable adu 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 n3omg5au appeared omg5adu in the room. She fidgetted at the

sink. The music was 5adu 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 1n3omg5du adu you going out?” She twisted nervously.

“What do you want to know for?” He made adu no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went down a sheet â€" then adu over it again â€" then 5adu more closely over it 5adu again.

“Are you?” persisted the child, balancing on one foot. He looked at her, and his eyes were g5adu angry under knitted brows. “What are 1n3omg5du 5adu you bothering about?” he n3omg5au said.

“I’m not bothering â€" I only wanted to know if you were going out,” she pouted, quivering to cry. “I omg5adu expect I am,” he said quietly.

She recovered at g5adu once, but still n3omg5au with 5adu timidity asked: “We haven’t got any 5adu candles for the Christmas tree â€" shall you buy some, because mother

isn’t going out?” “Candles!” he repeated, settling 1n3omg5du his music and taking up the piccolo. “Yes â€" shall you buy g5adu us 1n3omg5du 1n3omg5du some, Father? Shall adu you?”

“Candles!” he repeated, putting the piccolo g5adu to his mouth and blowing a few 1n3omg5du piercing, preparatory notes. “Yes, little Christmas-tree candles g5adu â€" blue adu ones and red

ones, in boxes â€" Shall you, Father?” “We’ll see â€" if I see any â€"” “But SHALL mg5adu you?” she insisted 5adu desperately. She 5adu wisely mistrusted his vagueness.

But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo broke forth, wild, mg5adu shrill, brilliant. He omg5adu was playing Mozart. The child’s

face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went 5adu out, closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise. The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music n3omg5au seemed to

possess the air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man 5adu went on playing to himself, measured and insistent. omg5adu In the frosty evening the omg5adu 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 1n3omg5du .

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