She wanted to return his gaze but focused intently on a spot next to and above the brick fireplace, as her music teachers had always taught her to do instead of looking directly at the audience. She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. ‘I do not believe you. “You hear him?” he remarked, looking impressively around. This isn't your island, child; it's the great world. ” Her eyes were lit with humour. ‘If you did not want me to talk of it,’ she told him with characteristic insouciance, ‘you should not have mentioned the matter to me. Do you indeed remember? The smell of decay and cheap methylated spirit!. . Mother and Son.
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