The house was redolent with the smells of cinnamon baking and the stuffed turkey and marinated pork roast. Can’t ask the gent to go abroad and condone a bigamy. She was practicing with them on that very day, and displaced a rather mediocre boy violinist who claimed “to be better at the viola anyway” as first chair. It was less will than education. But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened. “You are wrong! I did not think you thought such things. If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending.
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