“It was your own fault,” she exclaimed. He did not look at her directly, though she fantasized that she could 141 feel his stares from the back of the class on occasion. Russell burned like a beacon, but Capes illuminated by darting flashes and threw light, even if it was but momentary light, into a hundred corners that Russell left steadfastly in the shade. It was she who felt guilty as he showed her their bedroom, smelling her perfume, ingesting their psychic leftovers. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. "But McClintock agrees to take you both—because he's as big a fool as I am.
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