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of one's heart.
STYÓPA. He is more lyrical.
TÓNYA. There is no comparison.
LYÚBA. Do you remember his prelude?
TÓNYA. Oh, the one called the George Sand prelude? [Plays the
commencement].
LYÚBA. No, not that one. That is very fine, but so hackneyed. Do play
this one. [Tónya plays what she can of it, and then breaks off].
TÓNYA. Oh, that is a lovely thing. There is something elemental about
it--older than creation.
STYÓPA [laughs] Yes, yes. Do play it. But no, you are too tired. As it
is, we have had a delightful morning, thanks to you.
TÓNYA [rises and looks out of window] There are some more peasants
waiting outside.
LYÚBA. That is why music is so precious. I understand Saul. Though I'm
not tormented by devils, I still understand him. No other art can make
one so forget everything else as music does. [Approaches the window. To
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