She found no ready reply to that, and he went on: “This music is the food of love. ‘I thank you. Who is it?” The man came a little further into the room. You understand me, I’m sure. It was free of leering men, unthinkable punishments, and human evil. He stood back, smiling with an air of proprietorship, and looking about him at the business-like equipment of the room. He drove her to the Beck house, pulling up behind Cathy's red Nissan. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors.
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