The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell. Where her husband saw only two youngsters in the mating mood, she felt that tragedy in some phase lurked in this room—if only in the loneliness of these two, without kith or kin apparently, thousands of miles from home. They were now in a sort of cellar, at one end of which was a door. She breathed into a cloth soaked in rose oil as Sebastian had prescribed, but the smell of roses mixed obscenely with the smell of death and decay, causing her to retch. One learns to sit up. ” “The man?” 228 “Yes. E. “Lucy!” He whispered into her ear beneath a dusty curtain cloud. To be with you is the best moral tonic I know.
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