And so she came upon the word Love. 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. Neither would she allow herself to feel guilty nor would she allow him to find a way into the house. He had been on the point of leaving the restaurant. “Much better. She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. Now, abruptly, they were real again, though very distant, and she had come to say farewell to them across one sundering year.
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