And she could play the Beethoven symphony any time she wao. It was a queer thing about this music she had heard last autumn. The symphony stayed inside her always and grew little by little. The reason was this: the whole symphony was in her mind. It had to be. She had heard every note, and somewhere in the back of her mind the whole of the music was still there just as it had been played. But she could do nothing t it all out again. Except wait and be ready for the times when suddenly a new part came to her. Wait for it to grow like leaves grow slowly on the branches of a spring oak tree.
In the inside room, along with music, there was Mister Singer.
Every afternoon as soon as she finished playing on the piano in the gym she walked down the main street past the store where he worked. From the front window she couldnt see Mister Singer. He worked in the back, behind a curtain. But she looked at the store where he stayed every day and saw the people he kh……（内容加载失败！）
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