95 The officer showed her into the sleepy suburban police station, a hub of inactivity on Sunday night except for herself and a slightly drunk woman who had been brought in for DUI. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. ‘And with my grandfather Charvill also so very angry, it was not perhaps so very comfortable for my father. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. “She was the High Priestess who turned me in Greece, before Rome. “Why should one pretend? “Think of all the beauty in the world that is covered up and overlaid. Escape was now impossible.
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