After visiting the National Gallery, or Hertford House, or hearing Brahms or Beethoven at the Bechstein
Hall, she would come back to find a new person awaiting her, in whose soul were imbedded some grains of the invaluable substance which she still called reality, and still believed that she could find.
And then there are Rusbridger's forays into the piano market, weighing the merits of Bechsteins
and Steinways before deciding to purchase the modern-day gold standard of pianos, the Italian-made Fazioli.
The Bosendorfers and the Bechsteins
that animated these homes have been replaced with Orwellian telescreens, by turns iridescent and irksome, that vaunt their flatness as if formlessness were a virtue, and plasma--a feast for the senses.