My late husband, I mean. Through fire and water, through penury and pestilence, your hand will always be on his shoulder. Men usually do. “Look after her! Why not? But you have done it all your life. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. She seemed tense when not playing, he noted, more so than she had during the first two pieces. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand.
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