She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. She fell into another depression, refusing to touch Sebastian or call him husband when he demanded it. There was no one to be seen in the great hall. The lady reseated herself, watching him expectantly. But at length, there was a click, and with a swish, the panel of painted books swung outward from the wall. When it came time to eat once again, she hid out on the beach, a remote fastness beyond the city walls, a swampy morass that everyone avoided. She saw it, and checked without thinking. Ann Veronica, after a last survey of the dinner appointments, followed him, rustling, came to his side by the high brass fender, and touched two or three ornaments on the mantel above the cheerful fireplace. The doctor paced the room half a dozen times.
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