“But why is it preposterous?” asked Ann Veronica, and fiddled with a pipe on the mantel. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. She saw Lucy darkening her doorstep and stood from the recliner. Milice,’ Gerald translated. She would be haunted by the visions of their mad faces in her dreams for the next hundred years. She dressed rapidly and left the theatre without a word to any one. Brown gushed conservatively about the orchestra, letting the audience know about the recording engineers and how proud he was of Martin Chen. .
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