” He closed the door partially behind himself. Fifteen from forty is twenty-five. Love was joy, and joyous she was when alone. “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed, pervert?” “Yes sir. “I think,” he said, “that you have found the real home of the lotus-eaters. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. He hated horizons.
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