Their chit-chat stopped when they reached the bench. Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous. There was now no honest way of warning Taber that the net had been drawn. \" \"No, but can you carry my lunch bag? Where is yours?\" Michelle asked. She moved a little nearer to him. “In any case you will never receive any different sort of answer from me. ” Mike blurted, his voice swallowed by the throb of loud music. His patient was distinctly of a different order of life. Still—I don’t know whether I quite like—Something ramshackle about those people, Vee.
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