Lucy sized up the girl. If the boy was legging it alone…. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. “Poor Lucy!” Cathy exclaimed as she rushed in the door, umbrella sheathed. Across the blackboard the colored chalks flew like flights of variously tinted rockets as diagram after diagram flickered into being. It was just a shabby, stupid, furtive business that began between us. I have read that authors are very selfish and self-centred. It was very pretty and very dainty while it lasted, but we played it with our eyes open, and we perfectly understood the game—both of us. Sheppard. It seemed to emanate from the back of the house.
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