He savored the last solo, the coda. Her hand came up and she laced her fingers with his. Paul's, hanging like a black cloud in the air; and nearer to him he remarked the golden ball on the summit of the College of Physicians, compared by Garth to a "gilded pill. "Well, I'm glad she's spared this. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. This species of madness cannot properly be attributed to his illness, though its accent might be. Lucy looked at her reflection with a measure of awe. ‘Why do you stand there? Take him up, and bring him out at once.
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