” He stopped abruptly. He talked about his driver's license, how he would soon inherit his older brother's BMW. “I have been training myself to look askance at beautiful things. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. Usually his charges bored him with their interrogative chatter, for he knew that his information more often than not went into one ear and out of the other. "Go to the pump, Nab," he said, when this was done, "and fill a pail with water. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack.
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