Sir Anthony Evans plays liszt. The words above the door of the theatre were a metre high. On the wall there was a big picture of Sir Anthony at the piano. Hundreds of people were waiting outside the ticket office. It was Sir Anthony's eightieth birthday concert and everybody wanted a ticket. I had a special ticket, because I was a newspaper reporter. I wanted to talk to the famous pianist before his concert. I showed my ticket to the doorman and went into the theatre. Then I walked upstairs to the dressing-rooms.
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On my way upstairs I thought about the famous pianist. I was a little afraid. My mouth was dry and my hands were shaking.
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I arrived outside the dressing-room.
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There was a big gold star on the door.
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I knocked, and a tall man opened it. He was very old, but his eyes were blue and bright. He was wearing black trousers and a beautiful white shirt. He had a lot of straight, silvery hair. He looked just like his picture on the wall of the theatre.
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"My name's Sally Hill," I began. "I…"
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The old man saw my notebook and smiled at me.
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"Don't tell me. You're a reporter. Which newspaper do you work for?"
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"The Sunday Times, sir."
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"A very good newspaper. Come in and sit down. Ask your questions. We were young once, weren't we, Linda? But of course that was a long time ago."
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He turned to a tall woman, who was standing in the corner. She smiled at me with friendly brown eyes. "So this is Lady Evans," I thought. "What a nice face she has! She looks like a farmer's wife."
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I was not afraid any more. I sat down and opened my notebook.
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"Tell me about yourself, please, Sir Anthony. Did you come from a musical family? Did you start to learn the piano when you were three, like Mozart?"
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The famous pianist smiled. "No, no, my dear. I am the first musician in my family. And I was fourteen years old before I touched a piano for the first time." He saw the surprise on my face. "We have a little time before my concert. I'll tell you my story. It's a strange story, but every word of it is true. You see, I left school when I was thirteen. Everybody called me Tony in those days. I worked on a farm…"
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It was an exciting story and he told it well. At first I tried to write everything down in my notebook. Then the pen fell from my hand and I just listened. I was lost in Sir Anthony's wonderful story. He told me about an old school behind a high wall in a dirty street. There was broken glass on top of the wall. The school yard was very small. As he spoke, pictures came into my mind. I saw a little boy called Tony Evans, playing football with an old tin…
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