‘So yours is the rattling tongue, is it, young madam?’ ‘I should say so. Vaguely she heard the distinctive sound of male voices as she saw Gosse dive towards the fateful pew. Anyhow, that is how things are. The last piece was Scheherazade. She watched as his headlights flooded the driveway and many minutes after his car was gone. He sat with folded arms and knitted brows, thinking intently. Someone ought to be with him until the doctor arrives. She turned and looked at the red LED of the alarm clock that read 3:55. I am clear I want you. She stared. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude.
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