He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. In addition to his customary arms, Jonathan carried a bludgeon with a large heavy knob, suspended from his wrist by a loop; a favourite weapon, which he always took with him on dangerous expeditions, and which, if any information had been requisite, would have told Sheppard that the present was one of them. “Where are we going?” Lucy asked desperately as Michelle began to twitch with greater frequency. He continued his ditty, in spite of the angry glances of his leader. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions. Then, if you weren’t looking, he’d get five feet closer. And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers.
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