Albert Kinross

“ Sopwith's lamentations had ceased, he had started back, was listening eagerly, madly, with the face of a famished beast awakening to the distant plash of water.
"They're clapping—they're clapping!" he cried. "You devil—you lying hound!" Then he made off, escaping by various narrow streets to the stage-door.
Harvey was alone. The muffled sound of far-away applause had replaced the droning of the distant orchestra. ”

“ He crossed the hall and went out into the street, escaping the light and the oppressive contact of the audience; turning away into a dark and empty passage, one of the many that open out on to the great market. Here he was undisturbed, only one other pedestrian disputed the seclusion.
This alley of Merceron's was by night an almost lifeless place, a strip of asphalt running between the huge bulk of a row of warehouses and a blank wall of the opera house that adjoined a similar wall belonging to one of the market buildings. ”

“ A faint sound as of a distant orchestra floated on to the silence.
"They 're beginning again," said Sopwith. He had pulled himself together, was listening eagerly. "Isn't it any good? It must be some good—it must be some good, or else they wouldn't play it!" he exclaimed with growing conviction. The genuineness of the performance must have some equally genuine justification, some raison d'être proportionately vigorous.
But Harvey's gesture shattered the fugitive assumption. ”