The other week I dreamt -
I was in a non-descript office-like modern college building, and this little old plump Russian woman who was very demure in appearance and behavior and had an inward-turned body posture and a score clutched to her chest but a glowing face was there with me, and as she began walking ahead I followed her through the building.
She was Rimsky-Korsakov and working as a composition instructor at the university, and I was going to be honored with an early hearing of a commissioned work she was working on.
. . .
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