“We’ve never known anyone who can play like you, Lucy. As soon as he was gone, Jonathan went up stairs to the audience-chamber; and, sitting down, appeared for some time buried in reflection. He begged their attention for the next turn. ‘Peste,’ she wailed, as Emile dropped to the floor, ducking down. “John,” she said, “I am afraid that I am going to make you unhappy. Quite soon, after we were married—it was just within a year—I formed a friendship with the wife of a friend, a woman eight years older than myself. But I will never—never return. A sound sleeper, she was not roused by the creaky openings and closings of drawers as Lucy packed a single duffle bag with underwear and soap that was pilfered from a multipack of Zest in the Beck’s downstairs bathroom.
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