Daily contact with actual human beings all the more inclined her toward the imaginative. She had to do her thinking at home—under inspection. Look somewhere else in life. He touched her breast as if he was testing the waters of a cold lake. She opened it and imbibed. "I was about to add," continued Gay, "that my opera shall have no music except the good old ballad tunes. The sound of their strident voices floated upwards, the high nasal note of the predominant Americans, the shrill laughter of girls quick to appreciate the wit of such of their male companions as thought it worth while to be amusing. For a moment her heart seemed to stop beating.
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