The night was clear and moonlit, dazzling with even light blue shadows that shone into manicured lawns and pristine gardens. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. Earles protested, seating himself before the desk, and dipping his pen in the ink. Wild on his guard against an assassin. The audience was made up of parents, teachers, and a few other curious folks from town, all sitting hushed in anticipatory silence as the school orchestra assembled onstage. The signs of tears had all gone, but some subtle change seemed to have stolen into her face.
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