Whatever awaited him below, the impact was the same. His right leg buckled and a bolt of pain flared from ankle to knee, so that even after decades he woke with his old injury throbbing, bathed in sweat and hands outstretched to restore his balance. The pain subsided as the hours passed. Still, he no longer stood in the studio while his students practiced their moves, épaulement croisé, balloté, rise, ciseaux, but sat in a plain, straight-backed wooden chair, marking time with an elegant silver-topped cane. When he received notice that he was to be replaced by someone younger, he reacted with the same calm he always displayed, the classical dancer’s legacy of stoicism serving him now as it had for the last three decades. “I hope you understand.” The ballet master’s face creased. “You know I don’t want to do this. If something opens up, we’ll find a place for you.” Philip inclined his head. “Of course.”
What do You think about Errantry: Strange Stories?
