“This ought to be loud. The Fire Song.”
“No,” she decides, after a few bars, “it isn’t loud enough. I can’t wake up. Play the Hymn to the Sun.”
“It scratches,” you object. “Here’s one something like it.”
Play the Song of India. She sighs and relaxes.
“I love that,” she says, dreamily. “What’s that you’re going to play?”
Without answering her, put on L’Apres-Midi D’Un Faun.
10. EVERYBODY DOES
TYPE:
Unscrupulous and determined, but subtle.
SUBJECT: