. But how am I to know of things?” “Some things I hope you may never know,” he said. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. There is a tragedy to come. “It is an annoyance, my friend,” she said, “not a tragedy. It seemed as if each time her imagination reached out investingly, an invisible lash beat it back. ’” She played “If I Were a Rich Man,” adding syrupy trills and flourishes at every phrase. “Who wouldn’t be for you?” The train began to move. His face darkened. The by now familiar dramatic sigh came. Were it not for your voice, I don't think I should know you. He was damned if he knew what to do.
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