She could not judge its direction, and began to move swiftly along the bookshelves, her hand running behind her across the spines of the calfbound volumes. Wood's reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door. She returned home through a world that was as roseate as it had been gray overnight. On this side a flight of wooden steps, protected by a hand-rail, led to a door opening upon the summit of the prison. A brief feeling of empathy with Pottiswick passed through him. They exchanged greetings with the clarinetist. “You see,” she said, very gently, “I AM going. Go and prepare for our departure.
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