Mauritius

In this atmosphere, his witty lines disappeared, and his heart was pounding with shame and fear.

Risley's suite was at the end of a short corridor.There were no obstructions, and the corridor was unlit.Visitors walk along the wall until they hit the door.Maurice hit it sooner than he expected--a loud bang--and the panel shook.So he exclaimed, "Damn it!"

"Come in!" said someone in the room.Disappointment awaited him, and the speaker was a fellow-house man named Durham.Risley was out.

"You want Mr. Risley? Hey, it's Hall!"

"Hey! Where's Risley?"

"I do not know."

"Ah, it's okay, I'm going back."

"Are you going back to our academy?" Durham asked without looking up.Kneeling on the floor, he fiddled with a stack of player pianos. Sound produced by clacking strings. Became popular in the late nineteenth century until the advent of the phonograph and radio.) Records used.

"I figured since he wasn't there, it was nothing special."

"Wait a minute, I'll go back too. I'm looking for "Pathetic Symphony". "

Maurice looked around Risley's house, wondering what had been talked about here.Then sat on the table and looked at Durham.He was short—very small—with a natural attitude and fair skin.Maurice blushed as he stumbled in.At the Academy, he was known for being intellectual and aloof.Of him, Maurice was known only as "too fond of going out."Meeting him at Trinity College confirmed this.

"I can't find the March," he said. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

"It doesn't matter."

"I'll borrow a few and listen to them on Featherston Howe's player piano."

"He lives downstairs from me."

"Have you entered the Academy, Hall?"

"Well, I just entered the second grade."

"Ah, of course. I'm in the third grade."

Durham's tone was not arrogant at all. Morris forgot the respect he should show to senior students, and said: "In my opinion, you are more like a first-year student than a third-year student."

"Maybe. But I feel like an M.A.

Maurice studied him attentively.

"Risley's a great guy," he went on.

Maurice said nothing.

"Nevertheless, meeting once in a while is enough."

"However, you still came to borrow things from him."

He looked up again. "Is this inappropriate?" he asked.

"I was only joking," Morris said, sliding off the table. "Did you find that record?"

"No."

"Because I have to go" He was in no hurry to leave, but his heart was beating so hard that he had to say it.

"Oh well."

Maurice hadn't expected him to answer like that. "What are you looking for?" he asked as he walked forward.

"March in Pathet."

"I don't understand at all. You like this style of music, then?"

"like."

"My preferred style is lively waltz."

"Me too," Durham said, and he met Maurice's eyes.Maurice usually looked away, but this time he looked straight at it.Then Durham said: "The other movements may be in the stack by the window, I'll have to go and see, it won't be long."

Maurice said firmly, "I must go at once."

"Okay, I'll stop now."

Maurice went out, dejected and alone.The stars are blurred and the sky looks like it's going to rain.As the porter was looking for the gate key, he heard hurried footsteps behind him.

"Have you found your "March"?"

"No. I changed my mind and plan to go back with you."

Maurice walked a few steps in silence, and then said, "Here, let me get you some."

"I can get it."

"Give it to me," he said roughly, snatching the record from Durham's armpit.There was no further conversation, and when they returned to their houses they went straight to Featherston Howe's room.Because before eleven o'clock, they can still listen to music for a while.Durham sat on a stool in front of the player piano, and Maurice knelt beside him.

"I didn't expect you to be one of the art partners, Hall." The owner of the room said.

"I'm not—I want to hear what's in it."

The player piano started and stopped.Durham said he was going to tune it to [-]/[-].

"why?"

"That's closer to a waltz."

"Ah, that's all right, play whatever you want. Get out of tune—it's a waste of time."

This time, however, he failed to assert himself.No sooner had he put his hand on the roller than Durham said, "Let it go, you'll spoil it," and tuned the violin to five-quarters.

Maurice listened intently; he liked the piece quite a bit.

"You ought to come here," said Featherston Howe, who was working by the fire, "as far as possible from the fiddle."

"That makes sense—if Featherstonhowe doesn't mind, could I play it again?"

"I'm all right, Durham, play it again. Such pleasant music."

Durham refused, and Maurice saw that he was not a submissive man."A movement is not a stand-alone piece of music—it cannot be heard on repeat," he says. It's an unintelligible excuse, but one that clearly stands.Durham then played "Guangban" (translation note: "Guangban" is a piece of music composed by the German composer Handel (1685-1759). It is usually used to refer to many beautiful instrumental music adapted by others, from Handel's An adaptation of the aria "Green Trees" from the opera "Sells" (actually the score was originally marked "Little Cantonese"), not at all happy.Then the clock struck eleven, and Featherston Howe made them tea.He and Durham, both preparing to take their honors exams, began to talk about their majors, and Maurice listened.He is always excited.He could see that Durham had not only quick wit, but a calm, methodical mind.He knows what book he wants to read, what weaknesses he has, and how much help the school can give him.Maurice and his companions had blind trust in their tutors and handouts, Durham did not.But he was not, like Featherston Howe, contemptuous of tutors and lecture notes. "You can always learn something from an older man, even if he hasn't read the latest German books." About Sophocles , one of the three major tragic poets of ancient Greece. His handed down play is "Ajax" (about 496 BC) etc.), they argued for a while.Durham, a little overwhelmed, suggested that "us undergraduates" ignored Sophocles as arty.He advised Featherston Howe to reread Ajax, not to pay attention to the author, but to fix his eyes rather on the characters.By reading it in this way, you can learn more, both about Greek grammar and the life of the Greeks.

The argument frustrated Maurice.For some reason, he had expected to find Durham emotionally unstable.Featherston Howe is a fine character, smart and muscular - outspoken and blah.Yet Durham listened calmly, brought out the fallacies, and agreed with the rest.Maurice was the embodiment of fallacy; what hope was there for him?The sharp blade of anger pierced his body.He jumped up and said "Good night," but as soon as he was out of the room he regretted his haste.He decided to wait, not on the stairs, which seemed ridiculous to him, but between the foot of the stairs and Durham's house.He went to the yard and found Durham's room. Knowing that the owner was not there, he knocked on the door, opened the door and poked his head in. By the light of the fire, he looked carefully at the furniture and the paintings on the wall.Then go and stand on a bridge with no name in the courtyard.It's a pity that it's not a real bridge, it's just that the gardener erected it on a depression for the sake of effect.When you stop above, you will feel like you are in the studio of a photo studio.The railing is too low to lean on.Maurice, though, smoking his pipe, looked rather as if he were standing on a real bridge, and he hoped it would not rain.

All the lights were out except in Featherston Howe's house.The clock struck twelve, and then a quarter past twelve.He might have been waiting an hour for Durham.After a while, the stairs sounded, and a short and elegant figure, wearing a college gown, ran out with books in his hands.It was this moment Maurice had been waiting for, but he moved away involuntarily.Durham was behind him, making his way to his room.He is missing opportunities.

"Good night!" he shrieked, the harshness of his voice startling them both.

"Who? Good night, Hall. A walk before bed?"

"I usually do. You don't want to drink any more tea?"

"Me? No, maybe it's too late for tea now," he added half-heartedly. "How about some whiskey, though?"

"Have you?" said Maurice hastily.

"Yes, please come in. I