But it was her proof. 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. The echoes of his hard, unpleasant laugh reached Anna on her way upstairs. ‘How did you get in? The house is all locked up. Such was the simple code that displayed itself in all his thoughts. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. We’ll have some buttered toast.
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