He allowed his voice to drip with sympathy. It was explosive and gratifying. ‘I’ve eyes in my head, haven’t I?’ He grunted. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. "No; I don't think I'd laugh. Things you would laugh at. In the '80s such a dress would have indicated considerable financial means; under the sun-helmet it was an anachronism; and yet it served only to add a quainter charm to the girl's beauty. I heard John was talking about you again from Jenny McIntyre. Interrogation takes many forms, you know, Lucy.
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