The seventh year ended the way the sixth had ended — the three of them at midnight in the apartment, the wine, Catherine at the piano, the city at its celebratory distance.And the same, and different.The same: the kitchen table, the wine, the midnight. The December that had been the prepared room, the December of the library and the Farrow house visits and Catherine's call. The Bösendorfer opened. The chalk plant on the sill.Different: the quality of the sitting. Seven years of practice between the first New Year's Eve — the tentative December, the managed exterior still finding its register — and this one. Seven years of the texture, the deepening.Daniel sat at the kitchen table and watched Catherine at the piano and Adrian beside him and thought about the texture of seven years.He thought about the texture not as duration — not as seven calendar years, the dates known, the arithmetic simple. As a quality. The quality of the interior after seven years of open practice. The quali
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