The hurricane had now reached its climax. ”) Well, they might say that, but he knew very well that before long they would regret it. ‘Jacques, where are you hurt?’ But as she asked the question, she saw the wound. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. But in his presence a wall of diffidence and timidity encompassed her. The Widgetts talked with a remarkable absence of external coverings; the Palsworthys found all the meanings of life on its surfaces. 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. Lost in thought, Lucy barely heard Mrs. He resumed his listening. But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only the sensation of exaltation.
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