"We're here," said the Phantom. "This is it?" exclaimed the Wabbit. "A small thing but mine own," replied the Phantom. "Wow," said the Wabbit. The hall was laid out for a concert but a heavy wraith of disuse hung over the stage. Water trickled down walls. Spectral pillars shimmered in the dappled light. Somewhere overhead, a train rattled past. Organ pipes trembled, giving out faint and discordant peeps. "I sense a terrible sadness," said the Wabbit. The Phantom nodded. "I was born disfigured. But I could sing. So I made this place and sang alone." The Wabbit felt sorry and touched the Phantom's cloak. "I could sing as loud as I liked," continued the Phantom; "The trains above covered every sound." The Wabbit was agog. "But what about the organ? What about accompaniment?" The Phantom suddenly smiled. "My niece, Krypticia used to play, but she is long departed." The Wabbit shook his head. "Well you can't stay down here in the dark, singing on your own." The Phantom laughed for the first time. "You're a very nice rabbit," he said; "But I may not leave. I'm afraid ... I'm afraid I'm a ghost." The Wabbit laughed too. "I'm not giving up on you." "Then what shall we do?" asked the Phantom. "I have a vague idea," said the Wabbit ...
