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ide -- and between his open lips she could glimpse the pink healthy lane to his throat and his strong, smoke-yellowed teeth. He laid the Beethoven gingerly on top of the rest of her music and propped his elbows on the smooth, black piano top once more. "No," he said simply, looking at her.
Her mouth began to qu [link widoczny dla zalogowanych] iver. "I can't help it. I --"
Suddenly he strained his lips into a smile. "Listen, Bienchen," he began in a new, forced voice. "You still play the Harmonious Blacksmith, don't you? I told you not to drop it from your repertoire."
"Yes," she said. "I practice it now and then."
His voice was the one he used for children. "It was among the first things we worked on together -- remember. So strongly you used to play it -- like a real blacksmith's daughter. You see, Bienchen, I know you so well -- as if you were my own girl. I know what you have -- I've heard you play so many things beautifully. You used to --"
He stopped in confusion and inhaled from his pulpy stub of cigarette. The smoke drowsed out from his pink lips and clung in a gray mist around her lank hair and childish forehead.
"Make it happy and simple," he said, switching on the lamp behind her and stepping back from the piano.
For a moment he stood ju