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. They were followed by Jonathan, who carried a stout stick under his arm, and planted himself near the stone. “David,” she said, “you are not a coward, are you?” “I do not know,” he muttered. She cried out his name in ecstasy. She, perhaps, displayed herself rather consciously as a fine person unduly limited.
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