Music: Last Curtain

The dapper, slightly-stooped man who stood with a little black bag in his hand, ringing the elevator bell on the tenth floor of Manhattan's Hotel Vanderbilt one afternoon last week was nervous. Everything was in order in the room he had left. Trunks were packed with costumes, photographs, stacks of letters bound with rubber bands brittle with age. There remained to distinguish the hotel room from hundreds of others ready to be abandoned only a photograph of big-chested Enrico Caruso in a white-piped vest and a little bronze head which Caruso had...

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