John’s father added cheerfully, “So, do you play any violin?” She balked at the stereotype, but admitted, “Yes, I play violin. ‘Don’t concern yourself,’ Gerald said calmly. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. Thanks. She wanted his attention, but so did everyone else. ‘Don’t, miss,’ uttered the boy. Wood resounded from below. He allowed his voice to drip with sympathy. She gazed steadily out of the window at that arc of glittering lights.
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