He knew. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. " Immediately he stepped back. I tried to have it out with him, but he wouldn’t have it out. She walked across to this apartment and, opening the door a little wider, discovered a press section of the movement at work. ‘Don’t let us quarrel over your Leonardo,’ he said, summoning a faint smile. Why should he stare at her in this fashion?—for all the world as if she had pointed a pistol at his head? CHAPTER III He had said it, spoken it like that … his own name! After all these weeks of trying to obliterate even the memory of it!… to have given it to this girl without her asking! The thought of peril cleared a space in the alcoholic fog. It’s the rarest luck, the wildest, most impossible accident.
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