The slow stars circled on to the moment of their meeting. I am already too much flattered that you should have given me your confidence. Your husband could have told you that. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. Tears flowed in rivulets down 121 her cheeks and she began to cry. She had money of her own—much more than I have—and there was no need to squabble about that. When she judged that she must be nearly back at the library, she began to feel somewhat dispirited.
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