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Show 106 had never actually known a man who played, only women. Her instructor, and the nuns at school. She plunked middle C; it was in tune, a surprisingly rich tone. "According to Dad," Roger said, "it's in pretty good shape." "Yes. Yes, it is," she ran down the keys, her fingers skipping delightfully over them. As if summoned by the sound, Mr. Green appeared from the kitchen. He welcomed her with a friendly smile, Again, she was struck-almost shocked-by how handsome a man he was: a rather high forehead, just a touch of grey in his black hair, the same glisening black as Roger's, but wavy instead of curly; his large features, his strong nose, his firm chin suggesting authority. But it was his eyes which held her: intelligent, steady blue eyes-a warm intelligence-which fixed her pleasantly before him. Illuminating her somehow: without hesitancy, without confusion. "I hope you don't mind," Sharon nodded at the keyboard. "No. Not at all," he said sincerely. "Roger-why don't we take this young lady's coat." He was shorter than Roger, probably just over six feet, but well-built, without a sign of the fat which Roger carried. At first glance, she would not have thought them father and son, Sharon decided. "There's no free hanger here," Roger said from the entry closet. "Bring one out from the back." Roger left down the hall. "Bring out a couple, on second thought," Mr. Green called after him. Turning to Sharon, he explained, "Alice always robs the closet |