Ever since the young police officer had arrived on her doorstep the clock had started ticking faster. Wood. Some of the delicate colour which the afternoon walk had brought into her cheeks had already returned. “There was a man called Montague Hill,” she said hoarsely, “but he is dead. 9. " She opened the book which she had brought to the table. He must be gone to dispose of the body. For the past four weeks mirrors had been her delight, a new toy. She listened, her suspicions confirmed. ” There followed an instant’s pause, and then Ann Veronica had decided to misunderstand. Part of her even believed that her mother would have wanted her to stop feeling guilty and to be happy. Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault. The policeman raised his voice, slightly agitated. He saw her, dripping with rosy pearls, rise out of the lagoon in the dawn light: he saw her flashing to and fro among the coco palms in the moonshine: he saw her breasting the hurricane, her body as full of grace and beauty as the Winged Victory of the Louvre. “I’d like to dedicate tonight’s performance to the person that helped inspire me to complete my first major work.
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