Last evening, to alter the pace I sat alone at the marvelous [sic] Steinway in the mansion parlour playing those Debussy Préludes I've known (and faked) for a quarter century. When I stopped, the room was filled with silent people, entranced (so they said) and appreciative. It truly never occurs to me that my pianism gives pleasure to others than me (there's seldom an opportunity), nor do I quite realize that others cannot play for their own pleasure. Yet if my "touch" is satisfaction. communicative, it's because I lack the technique which stands between performer and audience.