An ugly flush stained his cheeks. Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture. Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say. She wanted to return his gaze but focused intently on a spot next to and above the brick fireplace, as her music teachers had always taught her to do instead of looking directly at the audience. But the general was turning on him, the hint of emotion wiped from his lined features. Because of the Dance. CHAPTER VI. She stood looking down upon him with dilated eyes.
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