"And so I want the boy out of the way," he concluded. It’s obvious you have eyes for someone else. She slipped down the perfunctory flight of stairs, short because of the home’s split-level style. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. The whole of that relationship persisted in remaining obscure. Reverse psychology or something, it’s like she was trying to draw him nearer by pushing him away. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. ‘I lived with the Valades for some years.
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