She walked straight across to the wardrobe and opened it. ‘You are an avid reader, I take it. There was no answer, just grunting, so she repeated the question in Latin, then in Greek, to which Rhea responded. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. The world isn't real yet; she hasn't comparisons by which to govern her acts. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. Understanding the appeal, the man snatched his master's sword from his grasp, and passed it through Darrell's body. “It is so difficult,” she murmured, “so impossible to explain. It was at lunch when McClintock announced that in the mailpouch he had found a letter addressed to Howard Taber, care of Donald McClintock and so-forth.
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