“With your permission,” he said to Anna, “I shall arrange a bed for him where he is. He returned, blue towel in hand. Too busy. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. Filled as he was with conflicting emotions, any stretch of silence would be dangerous. The period of repression was over. She discovered him sitting upon the floor beside his open trunk. I don’t know what has come over me. He had been for months without music of the character he loved—and he dared not play any of it! McClintock, after the music began, left the piano and sat in a corner just beyond the circle of light cast by the lamp.
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