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"No. But I think that perhaps you need one."

And he walked away, treading softly, as he always did, rnoving his hips, whistling, indifferent.

Shortly afterward the rehearsals started.

Almost immediately an argument that had recurred at intervals for at least twenty years broke out afresh between Lina and Weiss. She had been practising a dance with her own peculiar methods of the spacing of its music which entailed counting the bars singly instead of taking the phrases as they were written, and the rehearsal had no sooner started than she immediately began to introducé her own ideas of variation in tempo.

"This is quite impossible to synchronize," Weiss called to her at last. "I am a conductor, not a magician."

"What is that you say?"

"I say that instead of dancing in time to the music, you insist that the music should be played in time to you. And it is not necessary in any way to alter the tempo,— this stage, at least, is big enough."

"You will be good enough, Weiss, not to interfere with my own interpretations of my own dances. If I wish for music to be taken faster or slower than you like, if I wish for a sustained note to be held longer than you desire, all that is entirely my business, and your business is to do as I teil you!"

"Excuse me, Madame, but I would like to point out to you that I have the score before my eyes at this moment, and it seems to me a reasonable supposition that the composer himself is the best judge of the tempo in which his own work should be taken."

"What is that you say?"

Weiss repeated his argument in an even louder voice.

"How dare you speak to me like that? How dare you hold up the entire rehearsal for such impertinent nonsense?"

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