You never can tell. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. \"Why weren't you there?\" She asked Mike. Her heart in her mouth, she heard his foot scrape on the floorboard and knew from his expression that Gosse had heard it too. Sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand glance along the side of the woollendraper. She had expected sympathetic admiration, but instead the whole Widgett family, except Teddy, expressed a common dismay. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music.
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