Do you like duck?” “Sure. ” “Oh, Lucy, I never have stopped thinking about you since the first day I walked you home. The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting an oblong block of mote-swimming light. She was fiercely and bitterly jealous. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. She knew that to expect more now was like anticipating a gold-mine in the garden. ’ She was silent for a space, and it was evident that this part of the story was still too painful to be recalled with ease. “Do you play an instrument?” “I play the fiddle sometimes.
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