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At night she would turn it in her fingers like a rosary bead. The vault, in which Sir Rowland found himself, resembled in some measure the cabin of a ship. We aren’t worth it. She was lovely, painted like the porcelain doll he had always wanted her to be. Wasn’t easy, I can tell you. Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved. “He would never have found you out if you had not personated me. ” They left the restaurant just as the rain slowed to a dull trickle, the fury of the storm exhausted, having left mirror puddles in its wake. C.
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