“Did he tell you, Annabel?” “Yes. She found no ready reply to that, and he went on: “This music is the food of love. There were moments when she doubted whether the whole mass of movements and societies and gatherings and talks was not simply one coherent spectacle of failure protecting itself from abjection by the glamour of its own assertions. Not conceiving that his sister—feeble as she was, and yielding as she had ever shown herself to his wishes, whether expressed or implied—would depart without consulting him, he was equally surprised and enraged to hear the servants busied in transporting her to the carriage. She leaned over and kissed his cheek innocently. What was his problem, she thought to herself. Only I do not care to write about anything else. “The father was in the army, and got a half-pay job at St.
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