«And now, she told herself as she hurried back, all she was doing now, she was returning home to her husband and he was waiting for his supper; and if, when she entered the house, she happened to find anything unusual, or tragic, or terrible, then naturally it would be a shock and she'd become frant...
He stood up and walked slowly to the couch by the window. He picked up his violin on his drawn-up knees. He plucked a string or two and tuned it. «I will tell you a story,» he began. «After it is over you will need to ask me no more questions. Someone once told me that all secrets are lies. The tim...
...
...