Word: casement
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...wrapped figures hastened under the shuddering arcs to the bright shelter of heated chambers. Through the racing, crowding thunderheads above, there still broke a few dull rays of yellow light, which reflected eyrily from Memorial's gray and blood slates into the oaken garret. The Vagabond turned from the casement to the dark and empty chimney corner and lighted the lamp by his deep leathern chair; the scurrying forms occupied by nothing, the sight of Sever's portent walls, ugly without benefit of age, called in him a longing for life, for knowledge, for power, and love, ere it were...
...meaningless and in vain, when they confront the dark and fathomless abyss beyond. Outside, through the high shining windows of the hall, could be seen the white, jagged clouds and the blue author in which they were so lightly afloat. The sweet wind hurried in through the open casement after it had touched the bare trees. . . howbeit not the thought of deliverance, of return to the outside so long forgotten could comfort the dwellers within the hall...
...prologue has ended; a century has passed. It is 1930 in Vienna; but now as of old, when friends gather and men make merry, there is dancing and singing to Schubert's song. Now a new Schubert sits at the open casement. It is Toni Hofer, writing the last measures of an operetta. On the piano, lilting melodies lie in manuscript, but the one crowning air will not come. The play is dead without a dance, a Viennese waltz to give it soul...
...prologue has ended; a century has passed. It is 1930 in Vienna; but now as of old, when friends gather and men make merry, there is dancing and singing to Schubert's song. Now a new Schubert sits at the open casement. It is Toni Hofer, writing the last measures of an operetta. On the piano, lilting melodies lie in manuscript, but the one crowning air will not come. The play is dead without a dance, a Viennese waltz to give it soul...
...prologue has ended; a century has passed. It is 1930 in Vienna; but now as of old, when friends gather and men make merry, there is dancing and singing to Schubert's song. Now a new Schubert sits at the open casement. It is Toni Hofer, writing the last measures of an operetta. On the piano, lilting melodies lie in manuscript, but the one crowning air will not come. The play is dead without a dance, a Viennese walse to give it soul...