She felt like a bird flying in the air, as
her voice soared out, enjoying herself extremely in the balance and
flight of the song, like the motion of a bird's wings that is up in the
wind, sliding and playing on the air, she played with sentimentality,
supported by rapturous attention. She was very happy, singing that song
by herself, full of a conceit of emotion and power, working upon all
those people, and upon herself, exerting herself with gratification,
giving immeasurable gratification to the Germans.
At the end, the Germans were all touched with admiring, delicious
melancholy, they praised her in soft, reverent voices, they could not
say too much.
'Wie schon, wie ruhrend! Ach, die Schottischen Lieder, sie haben so
viel Stimmung! Aber die gnadige Frau hat eine WUNDERBARE Stimme; die
gnadige Frau ist wirklich eine Kunstlerin, aber wirklich!'
She was dilated and brilliant, like a flower in the morning sun. She
felt Birkin looking at her, as if he were jealous of her, and her
breasts thrilled, her veins were all golden.
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