CHAPTER XLI

Valancylookeddullyaboutheroldroom.It,too,wassoexactlythesamethatitseemedalmostimpossibletobelieveinthechangesthathadcometohersinceshehadlastsleptinit.Itseemed—somehow—indecentthatitshouldbesomuchthesame.TherewasQueenLouiseeverlastinglycomingdownthestairway,andnobodyhadlettheforlornpuppyinoutoftherain.Herewasthepurplepaperblindandthegreenishmirror.Outside,theoldcarriage-shopwithitsblatantadvertisements.Beyondit,thestationwiththesamederelictsandflirtatiousflappers. Heretheoldlifewaitedforher,likesomegrimogrethatbidedhistimeandlickedhischops.Amonstroushorrorofitsuddenlypossessedher.Whennightfellandshehadundressedandgotintobed,themercifulnumbnesspassedawayandshelayinanguishandthoughtofherislandunderthestars.Thecamp-fires—alltheirlittlehouseholdjokesandphrasesandcatchwords—theirfurrybeautifulcats—thelightsagleamonthefairyislands—canoesskimmingoverMistawisinthemagicofmorning—whitebirchesshiningamongthedarkspruceslikebeautifulwomen’sbodies—wintersnowsandrose-redsunsetfires—lakesdrun