He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. I’m going to that stupid party at the Vorsack’s to get to the bottom of it. She threw him his car keys. When I heard about Larry I was going 159 to call you, I was, but, well, there is no excuse, is there? I acted like I was afraid of you, afraid that I liked you, so I ignored you like a coward. “Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react. He took up his hat and went. She felt a semi-sharp object being gently impressed into her back.
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