"He called me a wanton, Hoddy. "Can you not love him?" "Love him!" echoed the widow. He savored the last solo, the coda. “Sebastianus? Where did my husband go?” He smiled at her gently, patronizingly, as he prevented her from movement or escape. She reminded him of his linnet, when he gave the bird the freedom of the house: it became filled with a wild gaiety which bordered on madness. Was it ruined?’ ‘But yes, it was entirely ruined. I feel at moments as though I could bolt for it. Worse than any man. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. ‘Lover’s tiff indeed.
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