You didn’t see me fall into a swoon when you cursed just now, did you?’ ‘I’m beginning to doubt if anything less than a sledgehammer would send you into a swoon,’ Gerald retorted. As if he read her thought, he spoke it aloud. Surely his calculated desire to sit near her meant that his attention had surely been brought from its normal diversions into her realm. Jim is up to the neck in Mahatmas and Theosophy and Higher Thought and rot—writes letters worse than Alice. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. He followed. She was dropped off at 2:30 at Whitefield Park, a huge extravagantly lit field in the new part of town. ‘Gabbling and muttering in a foreign tongue, that’s what I heard, sir,’ had declared the gap-toothed ancient, when he told them of the initial foray he had made, sneaking around the house in the dark. ” Michelle sat in a yogi’s posture on the cold plywood, her eyes closed as if meditating.
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