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It was during Martin’s Violin Concerto that she was extraordinary. It began to rain, a cold sweat of precipitation that was more sickly than refreshing. Neither their mother nor Sebastian noticed, as certain members of the house had taken to avoiding each other. How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord? for ever? How long wilt thou hide thy face from me? She came upon the Song of Songs—which had been pasted down in the Enschede Bible—the burning litany of love; and from time to time she intoned some verse of tender lyric beauty. “Be so good as to stand away from that door at once, sir,” Brendon ordered.
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