Lost Horizon by James Hilton — Read

There had been a pause, imposed by the High Lama’s call for further refreshment; Conway did not wonder at it, for the strain of such a long recital must have been considerable. Nor was he himself ungrateful for the respite. He felt that the interval was as desirable from an artistic as from any other point of view, and that the bowls of tea, with their accompaniment of conventionally improvised courtesies, fulfilled the same function as a cadenza in music. This reflection brought out (unless it were mere coincidence) an odd example of the High Lama’s telepathic powers, for he immediately began to talk about music and to express pleasure that Conway’s taste in that direction had not been entirely unsatisfied at Shangri-La. Conway answered with suitable politeness and added that he had been surprised to find the lamasery in possession of such a complete library of European composers. The compliment was acknowledged between slow sips of tea. “Ah, my dear Conway, we are fortunate in that one of our number is a gifted musician — he was, indeed, a pupil of Chopin’s — and we have been happy to place in his hands the entire management of our salon. You must certainly meet him.”

“I should like to. Chang, by the way, was telling me that your favorite Western composer is Mozart.”