She had now the clear and tranquil expression of one whose mind is made up. She turned into the study, sat down at the table and fingered the pencils, curiously stirred. Tell him about the island, the coconut dance, the wooden tom-toms; read to him. There is a place—This isn’t the place. ’ There was a silence. He was here shortly after the young man was taken ill. ” Her hands fell to her side. And then she fell into a musing about Capes. In and out of consciousness she sailed, hearing voices from memory that she could not distinguish from reality. A few steps brought him to the door of the vault in which his mother was immured. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. I must go perhaps in all the rooms.
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