And yet—while listening to the thing—one could think differently.
Faster and faster it went. The lovely second theme became infected, was distorted into something raucous and discordant—a march of the damned—a dance of the damned—breaking off suddenly when it had reached an unendurable pitch. Then a repetition of the droning first theme, ending on a soft yet grating note low in the keyboard.
He removed the needle, sealed it in an envelope, and packed it along with the rest of his stuff.
On an afterthought, he tore out of the big dictionary a page carrying an illustrated list of knots.
The telephone stopped him as he was going out.
"Oh, Professor Saylor, would you mind calling Tansy to the phone?" Mrs. Carr's voice was very amicable.
He repeated what he had told Mrs. Sawtelle.
"I'm glad she's having a rest in the country," said Mrs. Carr. "You know, Professor Saylor, I don't think that Tansy's been looking so well lately. I've been a little worried. You're sure she's all right?"
"How do you mean?"
It was then the other voice broke in.