The water was cold but she waded deeper. Before she put on her sun-helmet, she paused before the mirror. To compare me to a starving pig. What the devil is her name, now we know she isn’t you?’ ‘Yolande,’ supplied Melusine. A moment before, the surface of the stream was black as ink. Then they rode off at speed. She seemed tense when not playing, he noted, more so than she had during the first two pieces. At Morningside Park I feel as though all my growing up was presently to stop, as though I was being shut in from the light of life, and, as they say in botany, etiolated.
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