She had thought that all Morningside Park householders came home before seven at the latest, as her father usually did. A disconcerting gray eye that had a mystifying depth. “What are you doing?” “Nothing. What about your luggage?” “I could get a few of my things, at any rate,” she said. She drew a long breath. She had followed a bobbing white hat and gray jacket until she reached the Euston Road corner of Tottenham Court Road, and there, by the name on a bus and the cries of a conductor, she made a guess of her way. When she finished her last cadence, Carolyn and Thomas begged her to play encores.
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