“He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know. He could see lust virtually dripping from the dark-haired boy’s maw as she teased every last note from her shuddering violin, the devil in a black skirt. You are a great deal more like what I was a few months ago than I am now. Her stomach growled, and she clutched at it in reaction, haphazardly observing that the gown had been changed to silk. She tried to compose her thoughts, to think of the last six months, to steep herself in the calm beauty of the surroundings. Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor.
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