[92477] in Discussion of MIT-community interests
**Best Performing:**
daemon@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (CaringforaCaringforaparent.com)
Tue Nov 22 06:06:13 2016
Date: Tue, 22 Nov 2016 06:00:53 -0500
To: mit-talk-mtg@charon.mit.edu
From: "CaringforaCaringforaparent.com" <caringforacaringforaparentcom@parentsyo.bid>
Reply-to: "CaringforaCaringforaparent.com" <caringforacaringforaparentcom@parentsyo.bid>
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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 xil6
swung his head and jgxil6 began to play. A stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. gxil6 He played beautifully. He moved his head and his raised bare arms
with slight, intense movements, as il6 the delicate music il6 poured out. It 0abojgxl6 abojgxi6 was sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid
and delicate. xil6 The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity ojgxil6 jgxil6 of the music delighted him with a strange exasperation. There was something tense,
exasperatedto the point of intolerable il6 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 abojgxi6 appeared ojgxil6 in the room. She fidgetted at the
sink. The music was xil6 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 0abojgxl6 il6 you going out?” She twisted nervously.
“What do you want to know for?” He made il6 no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went down a sheet — then il6 over it again — then xil6 more closely over it xil6 again.
“Are you?” persisted the child, balancing on one foot. He looked at her, and his eyes were gxil6 angry under knitted brows. “What are 0abojgxl6 xil6 you bothering about?” he abojgxi6 said.
“I’m not bothering — I only wanted to know if you were going out,” she pouted, quivering to cry. “I ojgxil6 expect I am,” he said quietly.
She recovered at gxil6 once, but still abojgxi6 with xil6 timidity asked: “We haven’t got any xil6 candles for the Christmas tree — shall you buy some, because mother
isn’t going out?” “Candles!” he repeated, settling 0abojgxl6 his music and taking up the piccolo. “Yes — shall you buy gxil6 us 0abojgxl6 0abojgxl6 some, Father? Shall il6 you?”
“Candles!” he repeated, putting the piccolo gxil6 to his mouth and blowing a few 0abojgxl6 piercing, preparatory notes. “Yes, little Christmas-tree candles gxil6 — blue il6 ones and red
ones, in boxes — Shall you, Father?” “We’ll see — if I see any —” “But SHALL jgxil6 you?” she insisted xil6 desperately. She xil6 wisely mistrusted his vagueness.
But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo broke forth, wild, jgxil6 shrill, brilliant. He ojgxil6 was playing Mozart. The child’s
face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went xil6 out, closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise. The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music abojgxi6 seemed to
possess the air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man xil6 went on playing to himself, measured and insistent. ojgxil6 In the frosty evening the ojgxil6 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 0abojgxl6 .
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<p align="right" style="font: 11px;">him. Then he<B>rocked his eye over the sheet of music spread out on the table before him. He tried his flute. And</B>then at last, with the odd gesture of a diver taking a plunge, he dhse </p>
<BR /><span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 7px;"></span>
<p align="center" style="font: 15px;">
swung his head and 2jdhse began to play. A stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. jdhse He played beautifully. He moved his head and his raised bare arms </p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10px;"></span>
<p align="right">with slight, intense movements, as hse the delicate music hse poured out. It flov2jdse lov2jdhe was sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p></p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="right">and delicate. dhse The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity v2jdhse 2jdhse of the music delighted him with a strange exasperation. There was something tense, </p>
<BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, Courier New, Times New Roman, Arial;"></span>
<p align="right">
exasperated<i>to the point of intolerable hse anger, in his good-humored rest, as he played the</i>finely-spun peace-music. The more exquisite the music, the more perfectly he produced it, </p>
<BR />
<p align="right" style="font: 12px;">
in sheer bliss; and at the same time, the more intense was the maddened exasperation within him. Millicent lov2jdhe appeared v2jdhse in the room. She fidgetted at the </p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, Courier New, Times New Roman, Arial;"></span>
<p>
sink. The music was dhse 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. </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="left" style="font: 13px;"></p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: sans-serif, Helvetica, Arial;"></span>
<p align="right">
She looked at him quickly, seizing her opportunity. “Are you going out, Father?” she said. “Eh?” “Are flov2jdse hse you going out?” She twisted nervously. </p>
<BR />
<p align="left" style="font: 9px;"></p>
<BR /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 8px;"></span>
<p align="right">“What do you want to know for?” He made hse no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went down a sheet — then hse over it again — then dhse more closely over it dhse again. </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="left"></p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif, Helvetica, Arial;"></span>
<p align="left" style="font: 12px;">“Are you?” persisted the child, balancing on one foot. He looked at her, and his eyes were jdhse angry under knitted brows. “What are flov2jdse dhse you bothering about?” he lov2jdhe said. </p>
<BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif, Times New Roman, Arial; font-size: 9px; color: #ffffff;"></span>
<p align="center"></p>
<BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, Courier New, Times New Roman, Arial; font-size: 10px; color: #ffffff;"></span>
<p>“I’m not bothering — I only wanted to know if you were going out,” she pouted, quivering to cry. “I v2jdhse expect I am,” he said quietly. </p>
<BR />
<p>
She recovered at jdhse once, but still lov2jdhe with dhse timidity asked: “We haven’t got any dhse candles for the Christmas tree — shall you buy some, because mother </p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, Courier New, Times New Roman, Arial; font-size: 11px; color: #ffffff;"></span>
<p align="left"></p>
<BR />
<p align="center" style="font: 10px;">isn’t going out?” “Candles!” he repeated, settling flov2jdse his music and taking up the piccolo. “Yes — shall you buy jdhse us flov2jdse flov2jdse some, Father? Shall hse you?” </p>
<BR />
<p></p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: sans-serif, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 8px;"></span>
<p align="center">“Candles!” he repeated, putting the piccolo jdhse to his mouth and blowing a few flov2jdse piercing, preparatory notes. “Yes, little Christmas-tree candles jdhse — blue hse ones and red </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="center"></p>
<BR />
<p align="right" style="font: 11px;">ones, in boxes — Shall you, Father?” “We’ll see — if I see any —” “But SHALL 2jdhse you?” she insisted dhse desperately. She dhse wisely mistrusted his vagueness. </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="right">
But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo broke forth, wild, 2jdhse shrill, brilliant. He v2jdhse was playing Mozart. The child’s </p>
<BR />
<p>
face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went dhse out, closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise. The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music lov2jdhe seemed to </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="left">
possess the air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man dhse went on playing to himself, measured and insistent. v2jdhse In the frosty evening the v2jdhse sound carried. </p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, Courier New, Times New Roman, Arial; font-size: 7px; color: #ffffff;"></span>
<p align="left" style="font: 11px;">
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 flov2jdse .</p>
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