” Mike said, with unsubtle jealousy. Of you—an angel with one wing. Stanley?” “I’ve fallen out with my father. Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. " "Ah, yes.
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