"My wife and daughter, Sir," said the carpenter, introducing them to his guest. You are all the beauty in the world. Meanwhile, the executioner had attached strong cords to his ankles and wrists, and fastened them tightly to the iron rings. 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. Morningside Park was a suburb that had not altogether, as people say, come off. “Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded.
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