Monday, October 09, 2006

The Waltz

I prefer a slow, gliding waltz, a Schleifer, to a minuet. Wolfie is tuning his fiddle to play because his E string snapped and his new one refuses to stick. The servants are shifting the widow's furniture to make space for an impromptu ball and Papa asks Frau von Durst for the first dance, which she accepts. I am picking at the harpsichord, listening to the scarlet coat with white silk stockings knocking at the door. I adore Herr - , but does he adore me? The sun has set and the widow looks quite skittish as she swirls. N.


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