She sat very still in the moonlight; only had any one bent over her with eyes to see, he would have discovered that her eyelids were closed.
There followed a long silence.

She did not consider why Durrance, having kept this knowledge secret so long, should speak of it now.

She did not ask what Harry Feversham was doing that he must play the zither in a mean cafe at Wadi Halfa.

But it seemed to her that he had spoken to her as she to him.

The music had, after all, been a bridge.