Now, it so happened
that Jennings was in a frightful humor that day--one
of those humors in which the most prudent lose their
self-control. He had been listening to a succession of
new pupils--women with money and no voice, women
who screeched and screamed and thoroughly enjoyed
themselves and angled confidently for compliments. As
Jennings had an acute musical ear, his sufferings had
been frightful. He was used to these torments, had the
habit of turning the fury into which they put him into
excellent financial or disciplinary account. But on this
particular day his nerves went to pieces, and it was with
Mildred that the explosion came. When she looked at
him, she was horrified to see a face distorted and
discolored by sheer rage.
``You fool!'' he shouted, storming up and down.
``You fool! You can't sing! Keith was right. You
wouldn't do even for a church choir. You can't be
relied on. There's nothing behind your voice--no
strength, no endurance, no brains. No brains! Do
you hear?--no brains, I say!''
Mildred was terrified.
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