“Anywhere,” and he shrugged his shoulders as he tapped the pocket of his coat bulging with a yellow bag.
“I have my lunch along too. The Chairlift is where I nearly always go. There are benches and one can buy something to drink right there.”
“O.K.,” Karl said. “It’s one of my favorite spots too.” They started walking.
“By the way, what’s your name?”
“Judy.”
“Judy,” he repeated. “I once knew a girl who was called Judith.”
“You did? What was she like?”
“It was a long time ago when I lived with a family abroad,” he said quietly and quickly changed the subject.
“How did you like Bartok? Or didn’t you hear any of it?” he said with a good-natured smile.
“Of course I did!” Remembering how little of it she had really heard, she went on carefully choosing her words. “I found it difficult to understand—to—”