At the end of my 'Suggestion Diabolique', which was greeted with noisy approbation and which had genuinely sounded very effective, Saminsky shyly stole along the wall to the piano, and to his own very tentative accompaniment sang his songs in a quavering, husky little voice, full of hesitations and wrong notes, for which he kept apologizing. He sang one song, to no perceptible reaction, and then another ... the response was the silence of the grave. The song concluded with an augmented triad, of which he was manifestly very proud. Nobody paid the slightest attention. Saminsky then said, 'Well, that's it', once again provoking no response. Trying not to attract attention to himself, he inched his way back along the wall, and vanished. I felt genuinely sorry for him that evening; it was a most uncomfortable occasion to witness. I stood to one side and tried not to catch his eye.