. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter. As she averted her gaze, a terrible idea crossed her. She resolved to walk across the Park to the Zoological gardens, and so on by way of Primrose Hill to Hampstead Heath. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. When she came in after dinner that night, Ruth was no longer an interesting phenomenon, something figuratively to tear apart and investigate: she was talismanic. “She”, you say. Nothing is wrong that you do. I kicked the living shit out of him.
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