Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. The man himself was not a pleasant object. The Bach Cantata was played fairly well, Sebastian thought, for a lot of children.
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