The Last Original
ACT ONE: THE IMPROVISATION August heat pressed down on Harlem like a hand pressing down on a wound, and Elijah Monroe sat at the piano in Small's Paradise, his fingers resting on the keys like a priest's hands resting on a Bible, and he played a melody that had never been written in this world. It came to him not as a memory but as a command -- a voice inside his head, calm and urgent and...
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