“I mean it. "Come with me, my love, come—come," cried his mother, seizing his hand, and endeavouring to force him away. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. “Isn’t the question more complicated than that?” said Ann Veronica. She softened her tone and scrambled for the right words. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times.
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