The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. She wanted to return his gaze but focused intently on a spot next to and above the brick fireplace, as her music teachers had always taught her to do instead of looking directly at the audience. “I always get off here and lean over that rail for a bit. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 25-09-2024 15:19:04