256 Lucy chose her words carefully. A single false step might have precipitated him into the street; or, if he had trodden upon an unsound part of the roof, he must have fallen through it. The brain tires of resistance, and when it meets again and again, incoherently active, the same phrases, the same ideas that it has already slain, exposed and dissected and buried, it becomes less and less energetic to repeat the operation. ‘She ought to be. Jests are not for seasons like this. Mrs. You creep around in a nun’s habit, peering into a private ballroom. The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting an oblong block of mote-swimming light.
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