Now that she was his, to make or mar, she presented an extraordinary fascination. “Annabel,” she said brusquely. Suddenly she became worthy of attention again and her husband teased her and joked with her as Sebastian openly admired her beauty, teasing her and patting her shoulders, pulling off her headscarf. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. Then I saw Mrs. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. Why, that boy could hide for thirty years—without the girl. He thrust out a rhetorical hand. She lay and nibbled at a sprig of dwarf rhododendron.
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