'"He spread my score on the counterpane with classic casualness, and put one hand on the manuscript and the other down my dress."
'It might sound like a horror story straight from the annals of Weinstein et al, but this incident is from a poem by Gwen Harwood. The poem recounts her experience as a young composer in the 1930s seeking feedback from a visiting conductor. Instead of feedback, she was harassed.' (Introduction)