The lamp in the parlor was already lighted; soft yellow shadows lay upon the faded walls; dust and cobwebs had long ago surrendered to the siege of Hannah's broom.
Kenny drew the curtains to close out the splash of rain upon the window panes and went to the piano.

Even the noise of wind and rain left him calm and cold and invincible.

He played brilliantly snatches of everything he knew.

When Joan came and curled up in a chair beside him with her chin upon her hand, he forgot Adam Craig entirely and went on playing.

Not the music of rebellion; it was more the music of dreams, dusk-moths of melody that flitted through his memory, curiously iridescent.
He drifted dangerously after a while into the tenderness and passion of the _Liebestraume_, the one thing perhaps that, loving, he knew to the end; swept through the downward cadenza with exquisite accuracy and feeling, and forgot the rest.