‘How little I know,’ Alita thought, ‘and Hermione, although she is beautiful, is ignorant on almost every subject that Clint Wilbur is interested in.’
She thought of how well he played the piano and wondered if Miss Wadman ever sang for him in the voice that had been extolled by the critics.
He would like that, she was sure, and she wondered suddenly if it was too late for her to turn back and not go through with the performance that lay ahead of her.
Then she told herself that to do such a thing would be insulting rather than disappointing to a man who had shown her nothing but kindness.
‘At least,’ Alita told herself almost defiantly, ‘I have been with him, I have talked to him, we have laughed together and there has been no one else there.’
She reached the stables at Marshfield Hou
