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My wine was thick and breathless that one night, between glittering spaces - of glass tables, sprinklers of candlelight here and there in italic, setting a mood, and cheap-looking Christmas décor - - and I was cheap, too, dulled by the cold outside, and the wet wind, and my own damp slipping stockings, and that particular stretch of the ankles in heels, smuggling apples from the hotel vase. I listened to you play and clapped marveling at the way your hands flew over the piano, the way it did your bidding, so much compressed space in those 1,5m, I bet time, too, is a circle. |