Again he played for her; and again the eruption of the strange senses that lay hidden in her soul. ‘I trust you were not altogether disgusted when I kissed you. It’s best. It tore her apart. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. I'm ashamed to say that I was too much terrified to scream out—but ran and hid myself. Now, abruptly, they were real again, though very distant, and she had come to say farewell to them across one sundering year. My nerves were in rags.
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