I craved purification.
"If you've finished your coffee," I said, "let us go into the
drawing-room and have some music."
She rose with the impulsiveness of a child told that it can be
excused, and responded startlingly to my thought.
"I think we need it," she said.
In the drawing-room I swung my chair so that I could watch her
hands on the keys. She was a good musician and had the well-taught
executant's certainty and grace of movement. It may be the fancy
of an outer Philistine, but I love to forget the existence of the
instrument and to feel the music coming from the human finger-
tips. She found a volume of Chopin's Nocturnes on the rest. In
fact she had left it there a fortnight before, the last time she
had played for me. I am very fond of Chopin. I am an uneducated
fellow and the lyrical mostly appeals to me both in poetry and in
music. Besides, I have understood him better since I have been a
crock. And I loved Betty's sympathetic interpretation. So I sat
there, listening and watching, and I knew that she was playing for
the ease of both our souls. Once more I thanked God for the great
gift of Betty to my crippled life. Peace gathered round my heart
as Betty played.
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