CHAPTER THE THIRD THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS Part 1 Two days after came the day of the Crisis, the day of the Fadden Dance. She had carried a chair into the room veranda and had watched and listened until the night silences had lengthened and only occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshaw wheels in the courtyard. After a while, he raised his eyes; and, if their glance could have been witnessed at the moment, it could not have been easily forgotten. And she did not merely affect to be driven—she felt driven. Wear one on the stage on the following day. She knew the significance: the red corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol. ‘I have the means to compel you. ’ ‘Ah, non?’ Her voice was neutral. “I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. But we're neglecting the punch all this time.
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