Shari draped herself lazily upon her unmade bed. Your face has flitted out of my watch-fire, and then I have been a haunted man. But there was nothing in her bearing that a passer-by would have noted, to tell of the excitement that possessed her. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. Perhaps Gerald was not as clothheaded as he had thought. .
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