“All right?” asked the man with the light eyelashes, suddenly appearing in the doorway. People were not slaves to their gods as they are now, oppressed and unhappy, chained to their mortality and suffering so that they may one day enter an imaginary Heaven. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths.
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