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“I am afraid,” she said, “that he must have a skeleton key to these rooms. ” Annabel looked at him curiously. Run away now, please. It was surely odd that her thought should pick up that picture and recast it so vividly. The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper. One of her duties, after she had been taught to read, had been to read aloud after breakfast and before going to bed. It was her foster brother Mike, on his way to the bathroom. “I wonder,” he said, and went off at a tangent. Then she cursed herself for his eyes went to the letter and came back to her face. As if God would not continue to mock him so long as his brain held a human thought! God had given him a pearl without price, and he had misunderstood until this day. He had not considered this aspect of the business. She was watching him intently. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. He was indeed still in the throes of his bewilderment.
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