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Updated: May 31, 2025
She was perfection; he was terrified lest her singing should not be. His fastidious brain tortured him, for it told him he would love her less completely if she failed. Like most artists, Stefan adored music, and, more than most, understood it. Suppose just suppose she were to sing Tosti's "Good-bye!" He shuddered.
Their leader is regarded As the representative of Comstock here on earth. How does that song of Tosti's go? "Good-bye, Sumner, good-bye, good-bye." There are the Movie Censors, The motion picture is still in its infancy, They are the boys who keep it there.
And at the piano, playing a soft accompaniment, sits a tall, slender young woman, with a beautiful but troubled face, who sings in a low voice one of Tosti's love-songs. Her figure is still girlish, but her face is womanly; a classic face, not like the man's in expression, but faintly resembling it in form, though her features, clearly outlined, have not the smallness of his.
He shoved strongly and sharply, and instantaneously there leaped at him out of the darkness a blare of music which appeared to his disordered mind quite solid. It seemed to wrap itself round him. It was all over the place. In a single instant the world had become one vast bellow of Tosti's "Goodbye."
"There is an obligato for violin and we have a violinist here. It is a beautiful song Tosti's Beauty's Eyes. Do you know it?" "Yes," he replied. "Will you sing it for me?" she asked. "With the greatest pleasure," he answered. Once, as he sang the lines of the song, he looked up.
The dramatist's wife should play Tosti's Ave Maria, Miss Annesley should play the obligato on the violin and the prima-donna should sing; but just at present the dramatist should tell them all about his new military play which was to be produced in December. "Count, I beg to decline," laughed the dramatist. "I should hardly dare to tell my plot before two such military experts as we have here.
At times, when for some reason or other he wished to be disagreeable, he would start quietly whistling behind his paper, apparently for his sole enjoyment. It was as if, in view of the coldness of his audience, he were forced to express himself in a humble and subdued manner, but express himself he must. The tunes that he chose were The Rosary, The Miserere, Tosti's Good-bye, Gounod's Ave Maria.
As for Harald Hardrade, "Harald the Hard or Severe," as he was now called, Tosti's proposal awakened in him all his old Vaeringer ambitious and cupidities into blazing vehemence. He zealously consented; and at once, with his whole strength, embarked in the adventure.
However, there she was at the piano, and in another moment her fresh, sweet mezzo-soprano rang softly through the room in Tosti's plaintive song, "Good-bye!" We listened, but none of us moved from the open window where we still inhaled what air there was, and watched the lowering sky. "Hush! a voice from the far-away, 'Listen and learn, it seems to say; 'All the to-morrows shall be as to-day,"
He shoved strongly and sharply, and instantaneously there leaped at him out of the darkness a blare of music which appeared to his disordered mind quite solid. It seemed to wrap itself round him. It was all over the place. In a single instant the world had become one vast bellow of Tosti's "Good-bye."
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