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- Э. Л. Джеймс
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- Стр. 769/797
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“
You
didn
’
t
.
Play
the
other
one
.
”
“
Other
one
?
”
“
The
Bach
piece
that
you
played
the
first
night
I
stayed
.
”
“
Oh
,
the
Marcello
.
”
He
starts
to
play
slowly
and
deliberately
.
I
feel
the
movement
of
his
hands
in
his
shoulders
as
I
lean
against
him
and
close
my
eyes
.
The
sad
,
soulful
notes
swirl
slowly
and
mournfully
around
us
,
echoing
off
the
walls
.
It
is
a
hauntingly
beautiful
piece
,
sadder
even
than
the
Chopin
,
and
I
lose
myself
to
the
beauty
of
the
lament
.
To
a
certain
extent
,
it
reflects
how
I
feel
.
The
deep
poignant
longing
I
have
to
know
this
extraordinary
man
better
,
to
try
to
understand
his
sadness
.
All
too
soon
,
the
piece
is
at
an
end
.
“
Why
do
you
only
play
such
sad
music
?
”
I
sit
upright
and
gaze
up
at
him
as
he
shrugs
in
answer
to
my
question
,
his
expression
wary
.
“
So
you
were
just
six
when
you
started
to
play
?
”
I
prompt
.
He
nods
,
his
wary
look
intensifying
.
After
a
moment
he
volunteers
.
“
I
threw
myself
into
learning
the
piano
to
please
my
new
mother
.
”
“
To
fit
into
the
perfect
family
?
”
