His eyes on Melusine, he uncocked the pistol, and then reached out to the portrait, grasping it by one edge. That terrible laughter, just before his senses had left him! Why? Here was a word that volleyed at her from all directions, numbed and bewildered her: the multiple echoes of her own first utterance of the word. She could now see to read; so she stirred the manuscript about until she came upon the first page. Mac's. And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company. One might have said that these trees grieved for their native soil; and, grieving, refused to bear.
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