He was not one to yield without a struggle. Also
he wished to feel his way to the meaning of this new
mood. He put her music on the rack. ``We'll begin
where we--''
``This half-hour of your time is mine, is it not?''
said she quietly. ``Let's not waste any of it. Yesterday
you told me that I could not hope to make a career
because my voice is unreliable. Why is it unreliable?''
``Because you have a delicate throat,'' replied he,
yielding at once where he instinctively knew he could
not win.
``Then why can I sing so well sometimes?''
``Because your throat is in good condition some days
--in perfect condition.''
``It's the colds then--and the slight attacks of
colds?''
``Certainly.''
``If I did not catch colds--if I kept perfectly well
--could I rely on my voice?''
``But that's impossible,'' said he.
``Why?''
``You're not strong enough.''
``Then I haven't the physical strength for a career?''
``That--and also you are lacking in muscular
development. But after several years of lessons--''
``If I developed my muscles--if I became strong--''
``Most of the great singers come from the lower
classes--from people who do manual labor.
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