Eight fingers hit eight keys. Eight hammers hit eight strings through their cover of felt. A moan, too slowly smothered, pierces the night. Fear and a...ger whistling between closed nails. Un soupir. One crotchet of rest and an exalted cry rises in perfect rhythm. Is that so? You play the next few notes and she moans again, faster and softer. Behind the thin curtain, a skilled interpret plays a sensible instrument. A naughty little jam session. The girl growls in anger. She struggles, tries to. We don’t have any.’ ‘Come on, Larry,’ John said, ‘let’s get out of here before they find something else for us to do.’ ‘Gail, you’ve worked a miracle on Uncle John,’ Abby said after the men left. ‘He’s never been this silly, all the years I’ve known him.’ Gail’s face turned red. ‘Ah…thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ve always thought he was wonderful. I had a crush on him for years.’ ‘I heard about that,’ Abby replied. ‘Greg told me about your crush on Uncle John last night.’ Gail’s mouth dropped open.. More

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