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 the ceiling, to glow with light. The pair ascended the stairs. On the second storey she took a turn down the corridor, passing several closed doors, until she selected one which she opened. Again she pressed a button.

They stood in a bedroom, furnished neatly, simply. The wall-paper was the shade of ivory, spattered symmetrically with sprigs of blue flowers. Curtains of dotted swiss hung before the windows. The bed, covered with a white counterpane, embroidered in blue and rose, the reniform dresser, laid out with all necessary toilet articles, the chest of drawers, and the chairs were all of birds'-eye maple.

Sit down, Gunnar, Campaspe urged.

He accepted a chair. There was another formidable pause. Campaspe had seated herself on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. She extracted a cigarette from her case and struck a match.

Now, she said, exhaling a whiff of smoke of the hue of the moonstone, tell me why you have come back, and why you went away.

You know the answer to both those questions, Gunnar replied.

It would be better, perhaps, if you began at the beginning, Campaspe suggested.

Gunnar supported his head in his interlocked hands against the back of his chair. Once more Campaspe sensed an eerie impression of a halo. After he began to speak she scarcely once removed