It begins with that queer piccolo solo. Each time a daughter had been born to him he had concealed his chagrin with great tenderness and effusion from his wife, and had sworn unwontedly and with passionate sincerity in the bathroom. With such qualifications as she possessed, two chief channels of employment lay open, and neither attracted her, neither seemed really to offer a conclusive escape from that subjection to mankind against which, in the person of her father, she was rebelling. She was beauty, the key of magic, the teacher of spells, the predictor of wars, and the gate of the future. The fates are never so kind to me. She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony. . I dared not sing, I dared not laugh, except when you went away.
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