“And I’ve seen you!”
“When was that?”
“O ages,” said Fanny.—Am I mad? “Before we were born? And you too, Tessie Liebovitz. You were singing.”
“No,” said the girl, serious. “I was playing the violin.”
“Your fingers were singing, then.”
“They were too small,” said Tessie.
“Too small to sing?”
“Too small to sing ... too small to sing,” the girl whispered rapt. “So I work—my body, see? It works for my fingers that were too small to play.”
“What was I doing?” Susan leaned forward.
“Your hands are frightful. One of them clasping, clutching ... one of them thrusting away.” Fanny’s hands were before her in a frantic dumb-play.