She whipped round suddenly, and discovered the woman wedged into the corner by the window, keeping out of the way. An early bird clarinetist burst through in a long black skirt, swishing like a bell. His perception of her personal beauty deepened and quickened with each encounter. Ruth loved him. The two lovers sat together, and their sole discourse turned upon Jack and his ill-fated mother. It is a big house and there are many rooms in which to hide. “Do you play an instrument?” “I play the fiddle sometimes. ” “Are you in a hurry,” she asked carelessly. Her mind turned to her own future, the endless trickle of years. Perhaps that is why I lost my ambition.
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