Sharon’s skin burnt in the bright light and the sharp pain of the heat became indistinguishable form the sharp pain of the branches she was carrying... But, from the advice she had been given, she was able to see the landscape in a new light. The many holes which dotted the uncultivated fields had definitely not been dug. They were too shallow and too strangely smooth. And the rusted hulks she could see in the distance were almost certainly not the tractors and cars like you’d expect to see in. "Oh, I guess," she acknowledged. "And it's not really we who are disappearing, it's the music that makes us necessary. I mean, real opera, the stuff that endures, all of it dates back nearly a hundred years or more now, most of it much more. The new ones are just pale imitations, and even the few that get done at all last only a handful of performances. People just don't seem to want our kind of singing any more, they'd rather have rock concerts. Have you ever been to one of those?" No," I said. More

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