277 “I was beginning to think that I would never see you again, Lucy. ’ He looked the girl up and down. He growled in his throat and, thrusting his coat open, revealed his own buckled sword-belt. Her elbows were ready. “Lucy, where is your callous? All violinists have calluses on their necks and hands from playing. I have a big breakfast. Not up here, I think. But the general was turning on him, the hint of emotion wiped from his lined features. “And to think that it’s not a full year ago since I was a black-hearted rebel school-girl, distressed, puzzled, perplexed, not understanding that this great force of love was bursting its way through me! All those nameless discontents—they were no more than love’s birth-pangs.
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