How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. \"So what is up with you and John Diedermayer? Is he, like, after you?\" She looked at Michelle quizzically. But she did not believe he would do that. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. She was chic, distinguished, unusual. Sheppard.
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