Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. Gerald watched her vanish into the darkness, unusually incensed. Her hormones were raging stupidly. She was practicing with them on that very day, and displaced a rather mediocre boy violinist who claimed “to be better at the viola anyway” as first chair. Her mouth was worthy of her face; with small, pearly-white teeth; lips glossy, rosy, and pouting; and the sweetest smile imaginable, playing constantly about them. She was perfectly aware that the boy had gotten some sort of bug in his craw over her despite her sloppy, strange appearance.
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