Chapter 52

           IhadanotherletterfromEnglandonSaturday.Therewasasmallblackeagleontheflap:Barclay’sBank.DEARMR.URFE,ThankyouforwritingtomeupontherecommendationoftheMissesHolmes.IhavepleasureinenclosingaformwhichIhopeyouwillkindlyfillinandreturntomeandalsoasmallbookletwithdetailsofthespecialserviceswecanofferoverseascustomers.Yourstruly,P.J.FEARN,ManagerIlookedupfromreadingitintotheeyesoftheboywhosatoppositemeattable,andgavehimasmallsmile;theunsuppressedsmileofthebadpokerplayer.HalfanhourlaterIwasclimbingthroughthewindlessforesttothecentralridge.Themountainswerereducedtoapaleinsubstantialitybytheheat,andtheislandstotheeastroseandtrembledshimmeringlyoverthesea,astrangeopticalillusion,likespinningtops.OnthecentralridgeImovedalongtoaplacewheretherewasshadeandaviewdownoverBourani;andsatthereforanhour,inlimbo,withthedeathofAlisonstilldarkinsidemeandthehopeofJulie,JulienowconfirmedasJulie,therebelowmeinthesouth.Gradually,thoselasttwodays,IhadbeguntoabsorbthefactofAlison’sdeath;thatis,hadbeguntoedgeitoutofthemoralworldintotheaesthetic,whereitwaseasiertolivewith.

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