They laughed and talked and stared about them. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. ” She admonished. She slept in a bedroom clad in linens and skins, walked down hallways bedecked in the most gay and colorful frescos. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips.
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