At least, he would always be able to take care of Ruth. John’s father added cheerfully, “So, do you play any violin?” She balked at the stereotype, but admitted, “Yes, I play violin. Now, more and more, we’re going to be interested in them, to be curious about them and—quite mildly-experimental with them. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. He reminds me of a slave I once had in Rome with those sullen dark eyes and that wistful pout. But, here they are. A small handgun bobbed at the end of it, aimed at Sheila. “I am sure of it.
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