"What shall I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you in the dark—as I must always leave her? What shall I say except that I am accursed of men? Yes; I have loved something—her mother. Lucy loved orchestras, the bittersweet tinge of rosin dust that hung in the air, the way that the sun shone through filthy windows illuminating the marimbas with a storybook light. On all hands Jack was cheered, and Jonathan hooted. One post-midnight meeting, she could stand it no longer. At the present moment she was living in a world of her own creation, a carnival of brave men and fair women, characters out of the tales she had so newly read for the first time. He taught her about crowds, which men were the evilest, how to locate and dispose society’s garbage. Her lover surely did not 223 understand the implications of what he had asked for and his lust blinded him to the realities of existence even now. On the other hand, you seldom revere your immediate grandfather, unless he has promised to leave you some money. It is simply our point of view which is altogether different. “You knew it,” he added, in her momentary silence.
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