4772. She sang that sad American
song about the leaves being brown, and the sky being gray, with those words,
“If I didn’t tell him, I could leave today.”
4773. It seemed to me that it was
not a song at all, and that I could see in her sad distracted eyes, that this
girl was singing about her decision to leave her old father, and cease their
begging.
4774. She knew that he was soon to
simply die of grief, and that there was not a thing that she could do about it. In his face I thought I could see his certain knowledge of his coming
abandonment and certain death,
4775. ,and his even more certain awareness that he could play
the violin, but that she could not sing. And in that awkward balance was the
charm and substance their existence.
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