Looking for someone ?
e was playing upon▓ the inmost tissue of my life, so keen●ly I felt each note.I quite fo●rgot to turn the page at the proper place, ▓and Veronika had to prompt me.It ▓was a little thing, and yet I remember as vividl●y as if from yesterday the nod o●f the head and the inflection wit▓h which she said, “Turn, please.●”
“‘Le temps fait passer l’amour,’●.rdquo; repeated Mr.Tikulski: it was the ▓last line of the song.“Veronika, bring some ▓wine.Le vin fait passer le ▓temps,” and he chuckled at his joke.●Another small thing that I remember vividly● is how Tikulski, as she left the room,▓ posed his forefinger upon his Ada▓m’s-apple and s
aid, “She carr▓ies a ‘cello here.”
He we●nt on to this effect:—Veron●ika, as I already knew, was his niece.He als▓o was a violinist: more than that, he was▓ a composer, though as yet u●npublished.With the self-concei●t too characteristic of musical pe●ople, he told me how he was engaged upon “an● epoch-making symphony”—had been en●gaged upon it for the last doze▓n years, would be engaged upon it f●or the dozen years to come.T●hen the world should have it●, and he, not