She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. “No, I’m not a virgin. His eyes closed. . “I knew,” she said, in a low despairing tone, “that people would talk. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. I must know what new thing has come between us that she should treat me as a lover one day and a monster the next. “I am off to-night,” he said. She was never violent when angry: she became as calm and baffling as the sea in doldrums. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her.
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