The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. But she no longer obsessed over heresy, no longer did she feel cursed by God. You know that, and I know that, though we might be put to it to find a reason why. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. But this was not a season in which to be needlessly scrupulous.
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