They tracked the fugitive to the Mint; but, like hounds at fault, they here lost all scent of their prey. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. \"Where would you like to go?\" \"Burger King okay?\" \"Are you sure you don't want to go to some place fancier?\" He was surprised. She shuddered, adding confidentially, ‘You wouldn’t get me in there now, mind.
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