John was ecstatic to hear that she had made the coveted first chair position in Orchestra. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. ‘I don’t want to hurt you any more. Jove, he didn’t take to it kindly, I can tell you. I might have told you the truth. She asked the inevitable question, the one she knew Michelle was waiting to field like a quarterback anticipating the pass. “I have waited for this,” he said, and stood quite still, looking at her until the silence became oppressive. “To be my eternal love. “That sounds interesting.
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