"She told me to come at ten." Mr. Cohen said, "I've been waiting for an hour." He showed neither displeasure nor surprise. Mr Cohen is really used to the paradoxes of artistic temperament. He was a tall, clean-shaven man, impeccably dressed. His hair was black and shiny; his teeth were white and aggressive. When he spoke, the S sound was slurred. It's not that he's slurring his words, but it's not much. It doesn't take much imagination to guess that his father's name might be Cohen. Just then, the door at the other end of the room opened and a neatly dressed French girl hurried in. Madame is getting up? Cohen asked expectantly. "Tell us, Elise." Elise then raised her hands high. Her ladyship seemed to be under a spell this morning, and everything made her angry! Her husband sent her beautiful yellow roses last night, but she said they were OK in New York, but she was an idiot to send them to her in London. Only red roses will do in London, she said. Then she opened the door, threw the yellow rose down the passage, and struck a gentleman, I think a gentleman of the rank, who was naturally furious. Cohen raised his eyebrows, but showed no other emotion. Then he took a pad out of his pocket and wrote "Red Rose" on it with a pencil. Elise hurried away through another door, while Cohen faced out the window again. Vera. Read sat down at his desk and began to open and sort the letters. Ten minutes passed quietly, and then suddenly the bedroom door opened. Nazokov stormed in. Her presence immediately made the room smaller. Vera. Reed appears more bloodless,asrs warehouse, and Cohen cringes as a figure in the background. Ah, ha! "My children," said the diva, "am I not punctual?" She was tall and not excessively fat for an opera singer. Her arms and legs were still slim, and her neck was as round as a beautiful stone pillar. Her hair shone crimson at the back of her head in a big curl. If the color is at least partly due to the hair dye, the effect is not inferior at all. She was no longer young, at least forty years old, but the wrinkles on her face were still lovely, although the skin had loosened and wrinkled around the shining black eyes. She smiled like a child, digested food like an ostrich, push back racking system ,push back racking system, and had a temper like a devil, but she was recognized as the greatest operatic soprano of her time. She made a beeline for Cohen. Did you do what I told you? Has the odious English piano been removed and thrown into the Thames? "I found you another one." Cohen said, pointing to the corner of the room. Nazokov ran over and lifted the lid. It's an Ellard piano. She said, "not bad.". Now let's try it. The beautiful soprano sings a note, then it rises and falls lightly twice with the scale, then slowly progresses to the high note, continues the high note, and the volume becomes louder and louder, and finally the voice returns to softness and falls to nothing. Ah Paula. Nazokov said innocently and contentedly, "What a beautiful voice I have!"! Even in London, I have a beautiful voice. "That's right." Cohen congratulated her heartily. "I'm sure all of London will fall for you, just like New York." "You really think so?" Asked the singer. A smile came to her lips. It was obvious to her that the question was just a matter of routine. Of course it is. Cohen replied. Paula. Nazokov closed the lid of the piano and walked to the table with a slow, undulating step that proved effective on stage. All right, all right. She said, "Let's get down to business.". Are you ready for anything, my friend? Cohen took out a stack of papers from his briefcase on the chair. There has been no major change. He commented, "You will sing five times in Covent Garden, three times' Tosca 'and two times' Aida'.". ” 'Aida '! "Bah," said the opera diva, "it's so boring. But Tosca is different. "Ah, yes." Cohen said, "That's your role." Paula. Nazokov sat up straight. I am the greatest Tosca in the world. She said indifferently. That's right. "No one can compare with you," Cohen said approvingly. "Roscali will sing Scarpia, I suppose?" Cohen nodded. And Emil. Libby. "What?" Nazokov shrieked, "Libby, that's the nasty little frog, goo!" # 8212; # 8212; Gollum 。” I'm not singing with him. I'll bite him. I'll scratch his face. "Oh, oh." Cohen comforted her. I'm telling you, he can't sing. He's just a barking mutt. "Well, we'll see, we'll see." Cohen said. He is so clever that he never argues with the stubborn singer. What about Cavarados? Asked Nazokov. Sung by the American tenor Hensdale. The other nodded. This is a nice little boy. He sings beautifully. "Besides, I think Bellara will sing once." "He is an artist." Her ladyship said generously,industrial racking systems, "But let that squawking frog Libby sing Scarpia.". Bah! I'm not singing with him. 。” "Leave it to me." Cohen consoled. He cleared his throat and picked up another stack of paper. I am now arranging a special concert for you in the Albert Hall. Nazokov made a face. I know, I know. "But everyone does it," Cohen said. 。 kingmoreracking.com
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