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She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. “In a sense—yes. It was possible that his first impressions had not been correct. Even then she had understood vaguely that she had touched upon some philosophy of life: that one was never lonely when alone, only in the midst of crowds. I am quite clear about this. She was no longer a confederate in that. ’ ‘They wear a uniform, do they not? They march and fight with swords and shoot with guns, no?’ ‘Well, yes, miss. "It is your son. ” He smiled and buzzed her in to the glass doors, which opened by an unseen electronic hand.
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