“Goodbye and good luck to you, Aaron.”
With which Lilly went aside to wash the dishes. Aaron sat alone under the zone of light, turning over a score of Pelleas. Though the noise of London was around them, it was far below, and in the room was a deep silence. Each of the men seemed invested in his own silence.
Aaron suddenly took his flute, and began trying little passages from the opera on his knee. He had not played since his illness. The noise came out a little tremulous, but low and sweet. Lilly came forward with a plate and a cloth in his hand.
“Aaron's rod is putting forth again,” he said, smiling.
“What?” said Aaron, looking up.
“I said Aaron's rod is putting forth again.”
“What rod?”
“Your flute, for the moment.”
“It's got to put forth my bread and butter.”
“Is that all the buds it's going to have?”