“So should you. And let us go on with our evening. Some day I shall come back, and I will show you on canvas the things which have come to me up here amongst the eternal silence. “You poor little girl!” he cried. Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. He pumped as she raised her legs obediently. Prudence. She became aware that at regular intervals a light flashed upon her face and a bodiless eye regarded her, and this, as the night wore on, became a torment. Fine but strong lines marked the profile: that would speak for courage and resolution. “I know,” she said quietly, “that Paris, where she has been so much admired, is not a good place for her.
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