She saw the Chamberlain girls getting into a plethora of different cars (with barely a stitch on) with young men who seemed unnaturally excited about their first “dates”. Then he sat down and filled his pipe slowly and thoughtfully. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. Raymond Plote would only be missed by his mother. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. ‘Why do you stand there? Take him up, and bring him out at once. “I feel shabby and disgraced. If the boy had done anything wrong back there in the States, his would be the brand of conscience to pay him out in full. My sister was scarcely likely to make a mistake. ’ ‘And you believe her?’ asked Lucilla, raising her brows. Indeed, she did not want to think of him as loving her.
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