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That was the feeling she gave you, Lucy thought, of being on the brink of something, a tenseness like the moment when the conductor's baton is raised before you have been released by the music. "How ill you look," Tony was saying. Vivian laughed, "You always said that, do you remember ?" Conversation was buzzing again. Lucy turned to her neighbour.
The conductor spoke to the agent, nodding his head insolently toward Dave. "Young-man-heap-swelled-head," he introduced him. But the agent had had a scare. It was his job at stake, not the conductor's. He sat down sulkily and sent the messages. The conductor read his orders and walked to the door. "Number 17 leaving. All aboard," he called back insolently.
A sudden high-pitched brutal comment gave him the first inkling of the conductor's bullying methods. The discovery soon followed that the stage manager was worse than the conductor, and that, when Cleo once lost her head, which she did very easily at rehearsals, she became almost hysteric.
She began early, regardless of age, sex or previous condition of servitude she continues recklessly as she began and none makes complaint. Thus was it in her own world thus it was when she came to mine. On the way down from the North, the conductor's voice changed from a command to a request when he asked for her ticket.
"Mees Garden weel be hear in a meenute," the medieval face of Boris whispers into the Muscovite ears of Serge. Eleven-fifteen, and Miss Garden has arrived. She is armed, having brought along her heaviest shillalah. Mr. Prokofieff is on his feet. He takes off his coat. The medieval face of Mr. Anisfeld vanishes. Tap, tap, on the conductor's stand. Lights out. A fanfare from the orchestra's right.
"Hang on to Shirley, while I try to find Aunt Trudy," directed Rosemary, with a sudden panicky feeling that she couldn't remember what her aunt looked like. But, as soon as she saw her, she recognized her. "Well, Rosemary darling, you came to meet me that's lovely I'm sure," cried Aunt Trudy, panting slightly from her leap off the last step of the car, to the conductor's unconcealed amazement.
The York Hill team quickened and became tense during those last few seconds like a great orchestra for the finale of a symphony, in answer to the conductor's baton. Patricia felt a thrill of pride. How magnificently the team was responding they were playing like one person and that person meant to win there could be no doubt of it. "Fifteen-fifteen," said the umpire calmly.
Sims Reeves, indisposed and if it did not make a sensation, and was not received with deafening plaudits, I fancy it went smoothly and satisfactorily, and I retired from the field I mean from the conductor's desk not exactly with glory, but I think I may say without a stain upon my character as a local musical composer.
Over and above which, the post-horse, finding three hundred people whirling about him, will probably rear, and also lash out with his hind legs, in a manner incompatible with dignity or self-respect on his conductor's part. With such little drawbacks on my usually impressive aspect, I appeared at this Cornish Inn, to the unutterable wonder of the Cornish Miners.
It was subsequently, when I knew somewhat of his habits, that he explained to me that on pointing to his open mouth, he had intended to signify that he would be afraid of sore throat in exposing himself to the air of that damp and narrow passage. I got up into the conductor's covered seat at the back of the diligence, and in this position encountered the drifting snow of the Splugen.
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