The music confused and distracted her, and made her struggle against a feeling of intoxication. She wanted to return his gaze but focused intently on a spot next to and above the brick fireplace, as her music teachers had always taught her to do instead of looking directly at the audience. ’ ‘Gad, there is someone there,’ exclaimed Hilary beside him, shading his eyes with one hand. Nigel Ennison was he. What he wanted desperately was to be alone. You’re splendid stuff, you know, but you’ve got nothing ready to sell. She did not understand the note of hostility to men that ran through it all, the bitter vindictiveness that lit Miss Miniver’s cheeks and eyes, the sense of some at last insupportable wrong slowly accumulated. Anyone would be intrigued. Flesh and blood, vivid, alluring; she was no longer the symbol, therefore she had become, as in the twinkling of an eye, an utter stranger. Sebastian crouched on the floor with a single dead victim, a young highwayman.
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