Lucy looked at the stains on the threadbare carpeting to distract herself, embarrassed to her core. F. A little smothered cry broke from her lips—the curtains were thrown aside and a man stepped out. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. She recognized the face but could not quite place it. He leaned forward, and looked into the eyes of the woman he loved, and it seemed to him that she sang back to him with a sudden note of something like passion breaking here and there through the gay mocking words which flowed with such effortless and seductive music from her lips.
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