‘You would read my mind?’ Gerald was pretty certain he already had, but he did not say so. 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. “Is it okay if I go to the Junior Prom with John Diedermayer?” She asked Cathy in a low voice. The houses on Snow Hill were thronged, like those in Old Bailey. She was the first to hear another car approaching from the street, an odd occurrence in an elementary school lot that had been abandoned for the weekend. She turned to Lucilla, a plea in her face. And, if ever I'm brought to the gallows, I shall lay my death at her door. I shall barely be in time for the theatre.
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