We few, we happy few
Under a light a man in evening dress was playing guitar on a stool, flanked by white flowers. We pushed open the door, several heads turned, we sat at the back. He was into the second half. The music of Albeniz rippled, rose and fell in interlaced melodies, brilliant, tranquil, bewitching. At the end there was applause from all nine of us in the audience.
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