'Well, to a concert.'
'When?'
'When there is one. I don't know. They won't have one in this
God-forsaken place until the autumn.'
'That's a long time ahead.'
He spread his hands. 'You see, I never have any luck. I just want you
to promise.'
'Oh, I'll promise,' Henrietta said.
'It will be the first time I've been anywhere with a girl,' he said.
'I don't get on.'
'Have you wanted to?'
He sighed. 'Yes, but not much.' Her laughter, which was so pretty,
startled him; it also delighted him with its music, and his sad eyes
grew wider and more vague. He had an inspiration. 'I'll take you home
now.'
'I'm not going home. I've promised to go to Sales Hall.'
'Sales Hall--oh, yes, he's the man who talks at concerts--when he
goes. I know him. Have you ever wanted to murder anyone? I've wanted
to murder him. I might some day. You'd better warn him.'
Was this another strand in the web of her drama, she wondered. Was
Aunt Rose involved in this too? She breathed quickly. 'Why, what has
he done to you?'
He ground his teeth, looking terrible but ineffectual. 'Stolen beauty.
That's what his sort does. He kills lovely things that fly and run,
for sport, and he steals beauty, spoils it.'
'Who?' she whispered.
'That man Sales.'
'No, no. Who has he stolen and spoilt?'
'Heavenly music--and my happiness. I lost a bar--a whole bar, I tell
you. I'll never forgive him. I can't get it back.'
'If that's all--' Henrietta gestured.
Pages:
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147