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. ‘You, soldiers,’ she yelled. You go home and live on the G. At sight of his wan features, she forgot the urgency of her need for a moment, and fell to her knees at his bedside, placing her hands on his slack ones where they lay on the soiled coverlet. Ruth drank in these intellectual controversies, storing away facts. I shall like to think of it—whenever I feel dull. ‘Comment? You have then met this Suzanne?’ The woman turned a deep red.
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