A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient. I’m not to study, I’m not to grow. But here was new music, tender and kindly and whimsical, that first roved to and fro in the mind and then cuddled up in the heart. ‘You see now how dangerous it is to play this lone hand. We’d soon cool that temper of yours. I shall want you. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. “Do you know that boy very well, Shar?” Cathy Beck yelled in the general direction of the lavatory. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh.
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