4772. She sang that sad American song about the leaves being brown, and the sky being gray, with those words, “If I didn’t tell him, I could leave today.”
4773. It seemed to me that it was not a song at all, and that I could see in her sad distracted eyes, that this girl was singing about her decision to leave her old father, and cease their begging.
4774. She knew that he was soon to simply die of grief, and that there was not a thing that she could do about it. In his face I thought I could see his certain knowledge of his coming abandonment and certain death,
4775. ,and his even more certain awareness that he could play the violin, but that she could not sing. And in that awkward balance was the charm and substance their existence.