Tragic love triangle

On a January night regarding the seventies being early Christine Nilsson had been singing in Faust during the Academy of musical in nyc.

Though there clearly was already talk of this erection, in remote distances being metropolitan

The planet of fashion had been still content to reassemble every winter within the shabby red and gold boxes associated with sociable old Academy"above the Forties," of a new Opera House which will compete in costliness and splendour with those for the great European capitals. Conservatives cherished it for being small and inconvenient, and therefore keeping out the "new individuals" whom New York was starting to fear yet be interested in; and the clung that is sentimental it for the historic associations, as well as the musical because of its exemplary acoustics, constantly therefore problematic a quality in halls built for the hearing of music. It had been Madame Nilsson's first look that cold weather, and just what the press that is daily already discovered to describe as "an exceptionally brilliant audience" had gathered to know her, transported through the slippery, snowy streets in private broughams, into the spacious family landau, or within the humbler but more convenient

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