She was crushed with a sense of her own terrible impotency. 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. “I will not intrude upon you further. "Can you not love him?" "Love him!" echoed the widow. She hated tricking Shari, whose joy for life was the only thing that made her naive enough to fall for laced iced tea or hot cocoa, depending on the season. She kissed his neck and licked him there.
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