So she built a shrine. He spent the remainder of the afternoon looking for a friend whom he found at last in the billiard room of one of the smaller clubs to which he belonged. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. The wine was sweetened with cinnamon and cloves and rare edible flowers, which her father had instructed her not to drink excessively of. Bête, she told herself fiercely. ’ ‘Yes, I’m sorry about that,’ Gerald uttered in a rueful tone. With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. The detective backed out slowly and closed the door without sound. ‘What started you off, you madman,’ Roding told him frankly, as he set about tying his handkerchief around the wound, ‘was being born at all. A hollow plunge, echoed and re-echoed by the walls, marked his descent into the water. She stood there limply and did not act to resist him. People running, screaming, hiding.
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