He opened the door of still another room, in one corner of which was a grand piano. ‘Obsessed, that’s what you are. “Do you know, I have been wondering what had become of you,” she said. Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture. Then she stood up and looked around the room. ‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir. ‘We mean you no harm,’ he said reassuringly. He was clearing up these difficulties by tracing a partially obliterated suture the Scotchman had overlooked when the door from the passage opened, and Manning came into his universe. Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved. Could she go through with it? She must. "Come, then," said Wild, marching towards the door, "we've no time to lose. ” An awkward moment of silence followed.
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