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With flexible wrists he swung the felt-covered mallets that brought up such resounding tones; at times his long, apelike arms would reach far asunder and, rolling his eyes, he touched the extremes of his cymbalom; then he described furious arpeggios, punctuated with a shrill tattoo.
Steyle noticed Lora's vacant regard when he addressed her and insisted on getting her away from the dangerous undertow of this "table d'hôte music," as he contemptuously called it. He summoned the waiter. Lora shed her disappointment. "Oh, let's wait for the cymbalom solo," she frankly begged. Her aunt was unmoved. "Yes, Mr. Steyle, we had better go; the air is positively depressing.
And the agility of the cymbalom player, his great height, clear skin, and piercing eyes, quite enthralled her. "It is the gypsy dulcimer, Lora; I read all about it in Liszt's book on gypsy music," said Aunt Lucas, in an airy soprano. Mr. Steyle was impressed.
The leader of the Hungarian band was a gypsy who called himself Alfassy Janos, though he lived on First Avenue, in a flat the door of which bore this legend: Jacob Aron. The rest of the band seemed gypsy. Who is the cymbalom player? That is not difficult to answer; the programme gives it. "There you are, Miss Lora." She looked. "Oh, what a romantic name! He must be a count at least."
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