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Updated: June 4, 2025
My heart hung upon the pauses in her song; it beat, as I read, as if I had been running. I would forget to breathe between the pages. One day Fraeulein came in and found me in the back chapters of 'Anna Karenina. She had been playing one of Lizst's rhapsodies the twelfth.
Back to back, separated by little more than half the width of the gallery, Joan and Poluski worked steadily for twenty minutes. The Pole sang to himself incessantly, now bassooning between his thin lips the motif of some rhapsody of Lizst's, now murmuring the words of some catchy refrain from the latest review.
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