Then she was turning, ignoring the muttered cursing and the rattling that immediately ensued at the door. "It's a mercy you both escaped!" ejaculated Wood, only just finding his tongue. She was dressed in one of those complicated dresses that are all lace and work and confused patternings of black and purple and cream about the body, and she was in many ways a younger feminine version of the same theme as himself. Her eyes were insane with rage, crusted with yellow and green, only beginning to heal from her long sojourn underground. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it.
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