I’d love to show some of the less musically inclined boys that opera is so much more than fat women singing in a language they can’t understand.” Aed laughed. “Plenty of grown folks think as much of opera. Or should I say, think so little of opera?” Gethsemane, caught up in her idea, sat again. “That’s wrong. So wrong.” She slapped the back of one hand into the palm of the other. “Opera is passion, intrigue, love, death, betrayal, despair. It’s, it’s,” she searched for the word, “fundamental.” “You’re preaching to the choir, professor,” Aed said.
