“Please not now. “Please play something for us,” Carol asked, her eyes aglow. What our dear mother would say back home I dread to think. The little streaks upon the germinating area of an egg, the nervous movements of an impatient horse, the trick of a calculating boy, the senses of a fish, the fungus at the root of a garden flower, and the slime upon a sea-wet rock—ten thousand such things bear their witness and are illuminated.
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