[93326] in Discussion of MIT-community interests
**Best Performing:**
daemon@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (Caringforaparent.com)
Sun Dec 4 09:45:36 2016
Date: Sun, 4 Dec 2016 09:45:30 -0500
To: mit-talk-mtg@charon.mit.edu
From: "Caringforaparent.com" <caringforaparentcom@nteami.date>
Reply-to: "Caringforaparent.com" <caringforaparentcom@nteami.date>
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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 ie2n
swung his head and 9qie2n began to play. A stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. qie2n He played beautifully. He moved his head and his raised bare arms
with slight, intense movements, as e2n the delicate music e2n poured out. It jdcz9qi2n dcz9qien was sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid
and delicate. ie2n The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity z9qie2n 9qie2n of the music delighted him with a strange exasperation. There was something tense,
exasperatedto the point of intolerable e2n 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 dcz9qien appeared z9qie2n in the room. She fidgetted at the
sink. The music was ie2n 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 jdcz9qi2n e2n you going out?” She twisted nervously.
“What do you want to know for?” He made e2n no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went down a sheet — then e2n over it again — then ie2n more closely over it ie2n again.
“Are you?” persisted the child, balancing on one foot. He looked at her, and his eyes were qie2n angry under knitted brows. “What are jdcz9qi2n ie2n you bothering about?” he dcz9qien said.
“I’m not bothering — I only wanted to know if you were going out,” she pouted, quivering to cry. “I z9qie2n expect I am,” he said quietly.
She recovered at qie2n once, but still dcz9qien with ie2n timidity asked: “We haven’t got any ie2n candles for the Christmas tree — shall you buy some, because mother
isn’t going out?” “Candles!” he repeated, settling jdcz9qi2n his music and taking up the piccolo. “Yes — shall you buy qie2n us jdcz9qi2n jdcz9qi2n some, Father? Shall e2n you?”
“Candles!” he repeated, putting the piccolo qie2n to his mouth and blowing a few jdcz9qi2n piercing, preparatory notes. “Yes, little Christmas-tree candles qie2n — blue e2n ones and red
ones, in boxes — Shall you, Father?” “We’ll see — if I see any —” “But SHALL 9qie2n you?” she insisted ie2n desperately. She ie2n wisely mistrusted his vagueness.
But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo broke forth, wild, 9qie2n shrill, brilliant. He z9qie2n was playing Mozart. The child’s
face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went ie2n out, closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise. The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music dcz9qien seemed to
possess the air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man ie2n went on playing to himself, measured and insistent. z9qie2n In the frosty evening the z9qie2n 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 jdcz9qi2n .
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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 fjgt </p>
<BR /><span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 7px;"></span>
<p align="center" style="font: 15px;">
swung his head and a4fjgt began to play. A stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. 4fjgt 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 jgt the delicate music jgt poured out. It 9b51a4fgt b51a4fjt was sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p></p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="right">and delicate. fjgt The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity 1a4fjgt a4fjgt 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 jgt 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 b51a4fjt appeared 1a4fjgt 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 fjgt 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 9b51a4fgt jgt 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 jgt no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went down a sheet — then jgt over it again — then fjgt more closely over it fjgt 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 4fjgt angry under knitted brows. “What are 9b51a4fgt fjgt you bothering about?” he b51a4fjt 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 1a4fjgt expect I am,” he said quietly. </p>
<BR />
<p>
She recovered at 4fjgt once, but still b51a4fjt with fjgt timidity asked: “We haven’t got any fjgt 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 9b51a4fgt his music and taking up the piccolo. “Yes — shall you buy 4fjgt us 9b51a4fgt 9b51a4fgt some, Father? Shall jgt 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 4fjgt to his mouth and blowing a few 9b51a4fgt piercing, preparatory notes. “Yes, little Christmas-tree candles 4fjgt — blue jgt 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 a4fjgt you?” she insisted fjgt desperately. She fjgt 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, a4fjgt shrill, brilliant. He 1a4fjgt was playing Mozart. The child’s </p>
<BR />
<p>
face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went fjgt out, closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise. The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music b51a4fjt seemed to </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="left">
possess the air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man fjgt went on playing to himself, measured and insistent. 1a4fjgt In the frosty evening the 1a4fjgt 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 9b51a4fgt .</p>
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<br>
<br>
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