You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement. Part of his head was swathed in linen bandages. The bleach had ruined it, with yellow-orange streaks invading the frizzy white that cascaded in wavy tendrils coated with greasy hairspray. “It’s a new phase in the life history,” he remarked. “You’re a student, perhaps?” said the tall woman. Teenagers buzzed about her newly discovered talent for the violin in the same sentences as they gossiped about her torrid police scandal and a lost mother who remained in the deep shadows of murder mystery. She was a lovely girl, attired in deep mourning, and having an expression of profound sorrow on her charming features.
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