People who sit in the glittering horseshoes shoes of great opera houses, in the orchestras of famed concert halls, have cold faces, bright clothes. To brilliance, to frigidity runs their taste. Let a soprano pour out her soul in a fine frenzy of enthusiasm, they lift their eyebrows, clap and go away to their clubs or cabarets. But let her be a coloratura, let her sing with no emotion but with brilliance, with coldness, these cold, bright people in their turn give way to a fine frenzy of enthusiasm. Melba they smothered her...
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