She posed herself before her mirror and surveyed herself with gravely thoughtful, gravely critical, and yet admiring eyes. He stood up and she ushered him out of the small room. The program was to include a Bach cantata, her favorite piece from Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade, and for the first time ever, a student composition, a Concerto, by a precociously talented fellow student named Martin Chen. “Don’t think so,” Drummond answered. “I wonder if there is anything wrong with my manners,” she said. But he is kind of cute. Listen to your mother's prayers, and do not let her die brokenhearted. He will return, and you shall be awaiting his arrival!” When her own underarms and groin turned pink, then blue, then black, she confined herself to bed. "Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket. She began to exercise those lures which were bred in her bone—the bones of all women.
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