” “Of course not,” Anna said. The way it had happened was stupid, absurd. “I fail to see the joke,” Sir John said. " "Piano-player? Do you mean someone who plays for you?" "No, no; one of those mechanical things you play with your feet. She was a woman now to the tips of her fingers; she had said good-bye to her girlhood in the old garden four years and a quarter ago. It’s just to feel—one owns one’s self. They were sounding more and more like Civic every day. She watched for five minutes until he completely disappeared over Pine Crest, past the yellow fire hydrant and the dented stop sign. She came to her one day and pulled on her apron. And so bitterly did the carpenter reproach himself with his neglect, that he resolved, at all risks, to go back in search of it.
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