Secretly, Broots loved Bach. The old man had been sprightly, and something about his sprightly music always cheered Broots up. Those orchestral suites, with their old harpsichord and oboe techniques…sometimes they were just what he needed during a long, late afternoon of Centre tedium and terror. With Bach on his earphones, he could almost face Mr. Lyle with equanimity, smiling with the knowledge that he had resources Lyle knew nothing of. Bach. He was a life-saver, that old composer.