"She has no secrets from me. Hurrying down the Haymarket, he was arrested by a crowd who were collected round a street-singer. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. Robbed of their prey, the fury of the mob became ungovernable. Besides, I thought you despised killing women. “I”—he seemed to have a difficulty with the word—“I love you.
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