The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. How did you meet him?’ ‘He was wounded and came to the convent for sanctuary,’ Melusine told him, stung by his criticism into revealing more than she had intended. . She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire. The sidewalk resonated with the pounding of cold rain by the time she left the building.
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