50 \"You might mention her, but don't mention the Prom. " The Wastrel tried to reach Ruth's lips. “But I wish,” she said, “I had some idea what I was really up to. "Do they treat you ill?" asked her son. I ought to have seen—” “It doesn’t matter a rap—if you’re not disposed to resent the—the way I behaved. She found no ready reply to that, and he went on: “This music is the food of love. 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. She had, it was true, accepted doubtfully the pen he had offered. He was a shy boy outwardly but she knew him better in his thoughts, in which perhaps she had already taken upon the role of lover. Miss Stanley, it was manifest, had given him Ann Veronica’s address.
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