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34 striking appearance. I waited for him each day after that. But the man never again came to my music room. In the year that we stayed with my Grandfather I waited for the man to come again but he never came. I think, perhaps, even then I knew that I would spend the rest of my life looking for the starkly elegant man who had, one day, played the piano so beautifully for me. In my heart, love had welled up for this man. I loved him even more than I tat 4 ‘ + 1 ‘ 1 a loved the composer’s busts. I understand now that, even though I was a child, I was experiencing love as a woman feels it, a deep, deep, unforgettable love. Shortly before we left Grandfather’s house, one more thing happened. The piano had been moved to an inside wall for the sake of the sounding board. I still “composed” and played the Steinway each day. As I played this day, a beam of light focused through the tall windows and onto the treble portion of the keyboard. The glancing white ray spotlighted my hands and the keys and my body for several minutes. It wasn’t the sun. I don’t know what it was but I face. Something happened to me then, I know. I just don’t know what it was. Barbara Bartholic as told to Peggy Fielding hair. Even now, after all those years I can remember his could feel the brilliant illumination on my hands and on my