“If I didn’t love you better than myself,” said Capes, “I wouldn’t fence like this with you. “Lucy, where is your callous? All violinists have calluses on their necks and hands from playing. ” “It was a mistake,” she faltered. ” “Why did you keep her all of these years? What good can it do?” “She created me, Lucia. ” “You could never be that,” he answered, “but you are at least more serious than usual. “And think, think”—her voice sank —“of the horrible coarseness!” “What coarseness?” said Ann Veronica. It seemed an emblem of the ruin he had caused.
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