A lean young man in spectacles pursued her for some time, crying “Courage! Courage!” Somebody threw a dab of mud at her, and some of it got down her neck. She went to her room and changed the loose morning gown in which she had lunched for a dark walking dress. It begins with that queer piccolo solo. He reached the top floor and ran down the corridor to the little dressing room at the end where he had lost her before. How are you?” “I’m fine,” she said, unaware of all events except for the voice on the other line. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly.
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