He understood now that it was a part of her inheritance. Tell him about the island, the coconut dance, the wooden tom-toms; read to him. My mom doesn’t realize that I’ve got my own style. Away in London even now Capes was packing and preparing; Capes, the magic man whose touch turned one to trembling fire. I don’t know. . Burn your palette and your easel. There was the world besides, looming darker and larger. There are certain smells, certain tinges to the air. She recognized him as the man who had blundered into the wrong room. It would be downright cruel to disillusion her.
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