A Dangerous Guest
It's clear to me that the music must have tasted sweeter
than air, than honey, than the lips of the concubines as
they melted beneath the glory and the might, the pewter which
poisoned the purple person. The music was madder
than his sin, than the crackling incense, than the heavenly hint
hiding above his head. How else could he have been overruled, but
by that music whose majesty was mightier than his own,
and why else would it make him wish to kill it?
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