She put down the sketch-books and apparatus she had brought with her, pulled out her stool, and sat down. Gone were the old days where an old maid banged on an upright piano above a roaring crowd, this sound was loud enough to be heard outside the building, she thought to herself as her eardrums throbbed. In the evening, a band of village musicians, accompanied by most of the young inhabitants of Willesden, strolled out to Dollis Hill, where they formed a rustic concert under the great elm before the door. Hilary threw up his eyes. Lucy didn’t seem like a teenage girl at all to Sheila and she knew it. ‘Gérard!’ ‘Yes, it’s I,’ he said, and grinned. Wait a moment.
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