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"Ladies and gentlemen, MrEdgar Freemantle,
lately of Minneapolis-StPaul, now of Duma KeyIt sounded like an artillery
barrage going offI commanded myself to run away
I commanded myself to faintLike a
man in a dream - but not a good one - I walked
onstageEverything seemed to be happening slowly
I saw that every seat was taken but no seat
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taken because they were on their feet, they were
giving me a standing OHigh above me, on the
domed ceiling, angels flew in airy disregard of
the earthly matters below, and how I wished I was
one of themDario stood beside the podium, hand
outstretchedIt was the wrong one; in his own
nervousness he had extended his right, and so my
return
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notes were crumpled briefly between our palms,
then toreLook what you did, you asshole, I
thought - and for one terrible moment I was afraid
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I'd said it aloud for the mike to pick up and
broadcast all over the roomI was aware of how
bright the spotlight was as Dario left me there on
my lonely
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its flexible chrome rod, and thinking it looked
like a cobra rising out of a snake-charmer's
basketI was aware of bright points of light
shining on that chrome, and on the rim of the
water glass, and on the neck of the Evian bottle
next to the water glassI was aware that the
applause was starting to
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people were resuming their seatsSoon an
expectant silence would replace the applauseThey
would wait for me to beginOnly I had nothing to
sayEven my opening line had left my headThey
would wait and the silence would stretch out
There would be a few nervous coughs, and then the
murmuring would startBecause they were
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