There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. The proa bore away to the northwest out of which it had come. “I will be off,” she declared. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. She approached a soft-looking bespectacled girl she had seen once in the halls and noticed for her haunted look.
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