“You see, it comes after all,” she continued, “from certain original convictions which have become my religion. It begins with that queer piccolo solo. She held out both her hands. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. “So am I the jewel or the bug inside?” He smiled. “I believe it is. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. “Lift up one corner of the curtain for me. Mark you, she wasn’t the only one.
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