I am not of the canaille, but a bourgeois. She knew she was a monster and so did they. . She wanted to know. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. Home!— which I never hoped to see again. She declined and finished with a few of her favorite excerpts from Scheherazade. No one ate with as much passionate gusto as a teenager could.
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