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was a little too ingeniously remote for the public to ratify

2023-11-28 21:51:55 [map] source:All kinds of troubles

"Or be punished for treason? Has your Majesty any other behest?"

was a little too ingeniously remote for the public to ratify

"No; I shall even turn the leaves for you."

was a little too ingeniously remote for the public to ratify

"The leaves of what, --memory? I'll play by rote."

was a little too ingeniously remote for the public to ratify

He strolled over to the piano and sat down. He struck a few random chords, some soft, some florid, some harsh, some melting; he strung them together and then glided into a dreamy, melodious rhythm, that faded into a bird-like hallelujah, --swelling now into grandeur, then fainting into sobs, then rushing into an allegro so brilliantly bewildering that when the closing chords came like the pealing tones of an organ, Ruth drew a long sigh with the last lingering vibrations.

"What is that?" asked Levice, looking curiously at his nephew, who, turning on his music-chair, took up his cigar again.

"That," he replied, flecking an ash from his coat lappel, "has no name that I know of; some people call it 'The Soul.'"

A pained sensation shot through Ruth at his words, for he had plainly been improvising, and he must have felt what he had played.

"Here, Ruth, sing this," he continued, turning round and picking up a sheet of music.

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