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PRELUDE |
xvii |
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ber exactly what was said or how things looked; sometimes they remember it the way they wished it; but somehow out of the crossing of misty memories comes truth—comes a hint at great secrets—how music grows—how artists can be pimps when they have to be and still set the world dancing with fiery notes.
Mister Jelly Roll now bends close to the keyboard, his face saddened by a half smile, his soft and powerful hands stroking out tropical harmonies, and begins. . .
In New Orleans, In New Orleans, Louisiana town. . . |
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