But this was long ago. He saw the expression on the girl's face and understood what it signified, that it was the reflected pattern of his own. His smile faded. Lucy loved orchestras, the bittersweet tinge of rosin dust that hung in the air, the way that the sun shone through filthy windows illuminating the marimbas with a storybook light. The young male, as she had actually seen him, had been of the sailor type, hard-bitten, primordial, ruthless. “What are you doing?” “Nothing. Stanley. As we turned the corner of the street, I noticed that the electric light was burning in this room. "You are not. She was a much lighter and more frivolous person, very charming and companionable—but with a difference—a great difference.
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