With dawn we see the mark of yesternight’s roration.
In the A flat andante, flowing like sweet honey, the waiter brings him, instead of coffee, a bavaroise; in the defiant C major Beethoven bellows out for his coffee: the waiter looks anxiously around, and, after a time again brings the bavaroise, but this time milled with “Obers.”
In clusters on the plain, like cowlless monks at matins, sat the vultures that had settled on the corpse of the hyena impaled by the female rhino […]
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