As they passed beneath the thick trees that shade the road to Dollis Hill, the gloom was almost impenetrable. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. "All that you have been telling me, our old Kanaka cook summed up in a phrase. “No Christmas dinner,” she said, “or anything nice! One doesn’t even know what you are doing. This was the worst summer that I ever had in my life, Europe and all, and I can’t tell you how many times I drove by that Violin Camp hoping to catch a look at you, praying that there wasn’t some horny violin guy waiting to ask you out. “I meant to say good-bye to you to-night.
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