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WomenThe accompanist was at the piano, humped up on the bench and looking bored, and Charles Albertson, the personnel manager and second bassoon, was sitting on a folding chair at the center of the curtain. The lead instrument of each section – all the first desk musicians – were sitting in the center on the second row of seats from the stage. Albertson glanced at her and straightened up in his chair when he saw her coming out of the darkness at the back of the auditorium, and the pianist also sat up. The first desk musicians noticed them and turned to look, then they stood as she walked around to the front row of seats. "Good afternoon, gentlemen. I apologize for having kept you waiting." "…not long…" "…little early ourselves…" "…no problem…" "…better than rehearsing Mahler without a lead cello…" The murmur about the rehearsals got a couple of affirmative grunts from others, and she nodded as she dropped her helmet and attache case on one of the seats and sat down in the adjacent sear. "Shall we begin, Mr. Albertson?" He got up from his chair, nodding. "All right, Doctor Wycliffe." The place felt empty, cold, and bare, and his voice was hushed and muffled, lost in the broad expanse of the auditorium behind them ...» | Код для вставки книги в блог HTML
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