It seemed such a certainty of possession, to be able to pick out all the notes for himself.
He longed that Helen might be there to hear.
The Infant of Prague grew dearer to him than ever.

He was now mastering it himself, independent of the antics of an old person of a century ago, bowing away in the mirror.
He tried again; and this time he sang the words of the first verse, as he played.

His really fine baritone blended well with the richness of the silver strings.
The words had occasionally to wait, suspended as it were in mid-air, while he felt about wildly for the note on the 'cello; but, once found, the note was true and good, and likely to lead more or less easily to the next.
A listener, in the corridor outside, pressed her hands to her breast, uncertain whether she felt the more inclined to laugh or to weep.
Ronnie began his verse again.
"O come ...

all ye ...

faithful ...
joyful and tri ...