He did not know—and probably never would unless she told him—that it was very easy (and comfortable for a woman) to fall into slatternly ways in this latitude. It had showed up at an auction at Sotheby’s after someone had sold it. It was a neat, efficient-looking room, with a writing-table placed with a business-like regard to the window, and a bookcase surmounted by a pig’s skull, a dissected frog in a sealed bottle, and a pile of shiny, black-covered note-books. She always dawdled, so it was easy. Her eye wandered quickly over that riotous and disorderly assemblage, until it settled upon one group more riotous and disorderly than the rest, of which her son formed the principal figure. That won’t involve references, as a bank account would—and all that sort of thing. They had got all this down already—they heard the substance of it now for the fourteenth time. But days had now passed. This was the worst summer that I ever had in my life, Europe and all, and I can’t tell you how many times I drove by that Violin Camp hoping to catch a look at you, praying that there wasn’t some horny violin guy waiting to ask you out. You cannot possibly leave me here alone with Gerald. Then her fingers moved.
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