Unformatted text preview: per- sons in stories. And as long as I command my band to play, it cannot plague my mind alone, but must come and tap me on the shoulder." I remember that it was my turn to laugh with delight. The spirit was no worse than me in a way. I had had to learn to concentrate on my grandmother's stories when the music seemed to make it all but impossible. But for Lasher, to concentrate was to exist. When spirits dream, they don't know themselves. I could digress on that. But I have too much to tell, and I'm too . . . tired now. Let me go on. Where was I? Ah, yes, she told me about the power of music over the thing, and how she kept the music near her so that it would be forced to come and pay court, for otherwise it wouldn't have bothered. "Does it know this?" I asked. "Yes, and no," she said. "It begs me to shut out the din, but I cry and say I cannot, and it then comes to me and kisses my hand, and I look at it. You are right that it is vain. It would be seen again and again, just to be reassured that I have not drif...
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This note was uploaded on 02/20/2010 for the course WRITING 220.200 taught by Professor Julie during the Spring '10 term at Johns Hopkins.
- Spring '10