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She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. He glanced up at Roding and met his eyes. “So your father brought you here to live in the States?” John asked. He had barely settled at his desk in his library, when he was disturbed by two morning callers. He looked at her with an expression of comical despair. Everybody breathed a collective sigh of relief in the neighborhood, no one wanted to see how those kids would grow up. Then, as Ramage readjusted himself in a corner, he remarked: “These young people shoot up, Stanley. I'd go for it.
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