the lawn and into the house. Pandora stepped back for him, and we all watched in 
respectful silence as he sat down near the piano, his back to the front right leg of it, 
and his knees brought up and his head resting wearily on his folded arms. He closed his 
eyes.
  
  "Sybelle," I asked, "would you play it for him? The Appassionata, again, if you would."
  
  And of course, she did.
  
  THE  END
  
  8:12 a.m. January 6, 1998 Little Christmas
				





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