‘Now you see why it is I no longer require the proof of which I have spoken. “Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. There was an air of repressed gaiety in her actions: the sense of freedom had returned; her heart was empty again. “I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. ‘Jacques!’ She got no further, for Kimble came towards her, speaking fast and low. Jack was not half your age when he died. Before the first month was gone, McClintock admitted that the boy was a find. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. She could not judge its direction, and began to move swiftly along the bookshelves, her hand running behind her across the spines of the calfbound volumes. He had reacted by pushing her away, disgust and frustration on his face.
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