The day was so darkly overcast that she had to turn on the small white porcelain lamp that sat upon the makeup crowded vanity. ” She gazed at him. ’” She played “If I Were a Rich Man,” adding syrupy trills and flourishes at every phrase. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters.
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