I cannot do it, David. “I don’t know much about the technique of music,” he said at last, with his eyes upon her. But what else he saw fit to teach her I do not care to stipulate. We fixed that. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. She pulled her chair with a mild creak and marched towards the stair. ‘Ain’t enough as my bed is took, my sheets all bloodied, and my gin took for to waste on that fellow’s wound. They did not speak until he had driven past town limits and were on the highway. What passed between them I cannot think—I dare not. “Are you feeling okay?” “Just fine. Wood. I keep on thinking of little details and aspects of your voice, your eyes, the way you walk, the way your hair goes back from the side of your forehead. The darkness was almost palpable; and the wind which, hitherto, had been blowing in gusts, was suddenly lulled. Besides, I acted for others, and not for myself.
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