The family always managed to make it home for supper, even though it was a dying custom. Ray Plote would not leave a written explanation. Love, obliterated, annihilated; out of his heart and out of his Bible. Gerald stood quite still for a moment or two, listening intently. Capes made a quick movement as if to bite that aggressive digit, but it withdrew to Ann Veronica’s side. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. But his treasured dream lay shattered at his feet. And as a natural consequence, they don’t do so well, and they don’t get on—and so the world doesn’t pay them. But oh, how weary I am! I know.
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