“I’d chuck this lark right off if I were you, Vee,” he said. It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping. Her body rose up to meet his in a cat-like stretch and she smiled. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. “It is very doubtful,” he said. “You’ve got my view,” he said, after a pensive second.
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