It don't make no difference.Escaping one last time.It's easier to believe in this sweet madness, oh!This glorious sadness that brings me to my knees.In the arms of an angel, fly away from here.From this dark, cold hotel roomand the endlessness that you fear.You are pulled from the wreckage, of your silent reverie.You're in the arms of the angel, may you find some comfort here.You're in the arms of your angel, may you find some comfort here."Angel" By: Sarah McLachlan © 1997, From: "Surfacing," Nettwerk/AristaThe striking pair moved hurriedly through the dark corridors of the opera house. With the lithe blonde in the lead, she never paused as she led her companion through the maze of passageways."Meg, please slow down a bit." Raoul gasped. "Not all of us practice dance with your mother!"She scoffed haughtily at the winded young man."Monsieur le Vicomte, are you implying that a delicate flower of the ballet, such as me, has more endurance than a big, strapping young man, such as. Luckily, it's exactly the story you came here to hear." He leaned back in his chair, and steepled his fingers thoughtfully. "And if you're sitting comfortably, I guess we should make a start." * My story - or at least, the part of my story that's interesting to your readers, Miss Maxwell - begins ten years ago. I was sixteen then, a scrawny kid trying to survive high school. I came into my height early, and I was already heading for six feet, but I wasn't exactly sporty - astronomy club was more attractive to me than the football team, if you know what I mean. I wasn't particularly popular, but I had some good friends, and a few of them even stuck by me through all the things that happened later. They were, with the benefit of hindsight, good days.It was a Friday afternoon. Classes had finished at three o'clock, and I had spent an hour and a half in the library, studying furiously for a geometry examination that I was certain I was going to fail. Finally, exhausted and frustrated,.
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