“I’m thirsty. A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay. She lifted her shoulders in an eloquent shrug. Thinking of Mantua, she wandered to the courtyard. “Turned out to be an impostor, too. 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.
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