Tum, tum, tirray, tum, tum, tum, te-tum—that thing of Mendelssohn’s! If making one human being absolutely happy is any satisfaction to you—” He held out his hands, and she also stood up. You can’t possibly understand!” He began a confused explanation, a perplexing contradictory apology for his urgency and wrath. You won’t want to be late the first evening, and it’s ten minutes past seven now. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. For what indeed does she do? A simple song, no gesture, no acting, nothing.
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