[92674] in Discussion of MIT-community interests
Your Application with First Access Card
daemon@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (First Access Card)
Fri Nov 25 04:32:47 2016
Date: Fri, 25 Nov 2016 04:32:53 -0500
To: mit-talk-mtg@charon.mit.edu
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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 0ek7
swung his head and fg0ek7 began to play. A stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. g0ek7 He played beautifully. He moved his head and his raised bare arms
with slight, intense movements, as ek7 the delicate music ek7 poured out. It vml1fg0k7 ml1fg0e7 was sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid
and delicate. 0ek7 The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity 1fg0ek7 fg0ek7 of the music delighted him with a strange exasperation. There was something tense,
exasperatedto the point of intolerable ek7 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 ml1fg0e7 appeared 1fg0ek7 in the room. She fidgetted at the
sink. The music was 0ek7 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 vml1fg0k7 ek7 you going out?” She twisted nervously.
“What do you want to know for?” He made ek7 no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went down a sheet — then ek7 over it again — then 0ek7 more closely over it 0ek7 again.
“Are you?” persisted the child, balancing on one foot. He looked at her, and his eyes were g0ek7 angry under knitted brows. “What are vml1fg0k7 0ek7 you bothering about?” he ml1fg0e7 said.
“I’m not bothering — I only wanted to know if you were going out,” she pouted, quivering to cry. “I 1fg0ek7 expect I am,” he said quietly.
She recovered at g0ek7 once, but still ml1fg0e7 with 0ek7 timidity asked: “We haven’t got any 0ek7 candles for the Christmas tree — shall you buy some, because mother
isn’t going out?” “Candles!” he repeated, settling vml1fg0k7 his music and taking up the piccolo. “Yes — shall you buy g0ek7 us vml1fg0k7 vml1fg0k7 some, Father? Shall ek7 you?”
“Candles!” he repeated, putting the piccolo g0ek7 to his mouth and blowing a few vml1fg0k7 piercing, preparatory notes. “Yes, little Christmas-tree candles g0ek7 — blue ek7 ones and red
ones, in boxes — Shall you, Father?” “We’ll see — if I see any —” “But SHALL fg0ek7 you?” she insisted 0ek7 desperately. She 0ek7 wisely mistrusted his vagueness.
But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo broke forth, wild, fg0ek7 shrill, brilliant. He 1fg0ek7 was playing Mozart. The child’s
face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went 0ek7 out, closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise. The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music ml1fg0e7 seemed to
possess the air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man 0ek7 went on playing to himself, measured and insistent. 1fg0ek7 In the frosty evening the 1fg0ek7 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 vml1fg0k7 .
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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 4jg5 </p>
<BR /><span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 7px;"></span>
<p align="center" style="font: 15px;">
swung his head and rz4jg5 began to play. A stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. z4jg5 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 jg5 the delicate music jg5 poured out. It e0hkrz4g5 0hkrz4j5 was sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p></p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="right">and delicate. 4jg5 The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity krz4jg5 rz4jg5 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 jg5 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 0hkrz4j5 appeared krz4jg5 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 4jg5 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 e0hkrz4g5 jg5 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 jg5 no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went down a sheet — then jg5 over it again — then 4jg5 more closely over it 4jg5 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 z4jg5 angry under knitted brows. “What are e0hkrz4g5 4jg5 you bothering about?” he 0hkrz4j5 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 krz4jg5 expect I am,” he said quietly. </p>
<BR />
<p>
She recovered at z4jg5 once, but still 0hkrz4j5 with 4jg5 timidity asked: “We haven’t got any 4jg5 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 e0hkrz4g5 his music and taking up the piccolo. “Yes — shall you buy z4jg5 us e0hkrz4g5 e0hkrz4g5 some, Father? Shall jg5 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 z4jg5 to his mouth and blowing a few e0hkrz4g5 piercing, preparatory notes. “Yes, little Christmas-tree candles z4jg5 — blue jg5 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 rz4jg5 you?” she insisted 4jg5 desperately. She 4jg5 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, rz4jg5 shrill, brilliant. He krz4jg5 was playing Mozart. The child’s </p>
<BR />
<p>
face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went 4jg5 out, closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise. The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music 0hkrz4j5 seemed to </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="left">
possess the air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man 4jg5 went on playing to himself, measured and insistent. krz4jg5 In the frosty evening the krz4jg5 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 e0hkrz4g5 .</p>
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