She was dropped off at 2:30 at Whitefield Park, a huge extravagantly lit field in the new part of town. As concertmaster, it was Lucy’s duty to seat the orchestra as well as tune them. “What are you doing here? How dare you come to my rooms!” The man stepped into the middle of the room. I didn’t! I didn’t! After all—” For a time her mind ran on daintiness and its defensive restraints as though it was the one desirable thing. 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. “I love you, Anna, and I want you for my wife. “Does he live here?” he asked her presently.
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