She would wake in the night to repeat her bitter cry: “Oh, why did I burn those notes?” It added greatly to the annoyance of the situation that she had twice seen Ramage in the Avenue since her return to the shelter of her father’s roof. She had never thought of him at all in that way before. His brute strength surged through her veins, she could feel his energy in her heart, his life force stolen like candy from a baby. My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter. Their houses became a refuge of ill repute, the source of rumor and intrigue in the highest echelons of society. Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors.
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