Not for me. Ann Veronica looked down at her fingers on the claret-colored table-cloth. She had heard Alice talking and crying at the same time, a painful noise. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. There’s hardly a night she doesn’t sneak out of the house. ‘Get the swords!’ ‘I’ll see to him. A note of belligerency had crept into his tone. Between his lectures—and primarily he was an itinerant lecturer—he manoeuvred in vain to acquire some facts regarding the girl, who she was, whence she had come; but always she countered with: "What is that?" Guileless she might be; simple, never.
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