A quiet autumn night, when silence filled the streets of the city, and battered hooves of horses running in the roadway is not eternal vanity rabid passers-by, we Caruso uncle sat in the studio for another masterpiece of our imagination. It was a flamingo from mahogany. Thin stream of light thrust itself from the fireplace through wood fiber directly to us. We are a long time in silence watching the grace of a flexible material. Celil thrill my soul in my young mind the idea of uniqueness of an unfinished masterpiece. Me at that moment it seemed that if I was not young student, I would not know this feeling so great.
Uncle Caruso long silently stared at him, but he later drew small barely visible from under his thick eyebrows, eyes, like two little sparks in my direction and asked: Kevin, how do they dance? How? I was amazed, and her whole face turned to the uncle showed him at his mistake. I replied: I do not know because I've never seen them. – Maybe Horatio will tell us? He's a lot of swimming, traveling around the world. At this point, I was struck by perseverance Caruso. He was old, and ate moved. Holding on to my shoulder, he took off the peg shabby time, but economically well-groomed, his coat and said: Come on.
I've been wanting to know how they dance. Out on the street, we wandered to Horatio. We faced a terrifying darkness, full of typical raw London fog.