“I can’t conceive what you want. ‘Don’t involve me in your lover’s tiff. Flinging her back against it, she put her hands out, barring his way. ’ ‘Who were they?’ she asked abruptly. The bliss had lasted one hundred and forty years, far more than an entire mortal lifetime. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. She looked at the white ankle socks on her feet and was reminded simultaneously of her pajama outfit and the suitcase that still lay underneath the bed.
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