Part of his head was swathed in linen bandages. Hilary Roding was all soldier now, his earlier grievances laid aside. \"What's that?\" Lucy asked. It was the end, she told herself, fiercely. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. But, when the sound of the carriage-wheels died away, and he felt that she was actually gone, his resolution failed him, and he rang the bell violently. And, as he was about to put himself into a posture of defence, his mother clasped him in her arms.
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