... All
emotion cooled suddenly, leaving him like a receding tide. He sat down
again, ashamed, mortified, angry with himself for behaving like a fool
and a boy. And the music, meanwhile, continued to issue from the white
and snakelike fingers of Bruder Schliemann, as poisoned wine might issue
from the weirdly fashioned necks of antique phials.
And, with the rest of them, Harris drank it in.
Forcing himself to believe that he had been the victim of some kind of
illusory perception, he vigorously restrained his feelings. Then the
music presently ceased, and every one applauded and began to talk at
once, laughing, changing seats, complimenting the player, and behaving
naturally and easily as though nothing out of the way had happened. The
faces appeared normal once more. The Brothers crowded round their
visitor, and he joined in their talk and even heard himself thanking the
gifted musician.
But, at the same time, he found himself edging towards the door, nearer
and nearer, changing his chair when possible, and joining the groups
that stood closest to the way of escape.
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