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Softly he played the opening bars of the prelude to the song, and Diana watched fascinatedly while he made the notes speak, and sing, and melt into each other with his short stumpy fingers that looked as though they and music would have little enough in common. "Now then. Bee-gin." And Diana began.
"It is so beeg that it is all over the place it sounds like a clap of thunder that has lost his way in a back garden." And he smiled indulgently. "To bee-gin with, you will put away all your songs every one. There will be nothing but exercises for months yet. And you will come for your first lesson on Thursday.
Bee-gin, please: 'In all humility I worship thee." Obediently the young man opened his mouth, and in a magnificent baritone voice declaimed that reverently, and from a great way off, he ventured to worship at his beloved's shrine, while Diana listened spell-bound. If this were the only sort of voice Baroni condescended to train, what chance had she?
On Thursday we will bee-gin." The door closed on the maestro's benevolently smiling face, and on that other the dark, satirical face of Olga Lermontof and Diana found herself once again breasting the March wind as it came roystering up through Grellingham Place. "Look sharp, miss, jump in! Luggage in the rear van."
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