He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. “Very likely. 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. The address was of course her destination, thousands of miles away, an infinitesimal spot in a terrifying space. Mr. “My word holds,” she said. A thin mist lay on the river, giving the few craft moving about in it a ghostly look.
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