He was angry. The touch of her hands was pleasurable. ’ Disappointment flooded her. Her lips parted, but no words came. 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. I deemed it more prudent to send him to the Dark House than to bring him here, in case of any search after him by his adoptive father—the carpenter Wood. The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another.
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