“How did you hear that?” Lucy’s brows knitted. His heart was beating, but faintly and slowly, with ominous intermissions. He did not look up, so he did not know that in her other hand she held a glass of wine. She perceived she had never really thought of any one but herself in all her acts and plans. That was the true miracle of the gift; without actual experience, to imagine love and hate and greed and how they would react upon each other; and then, when these passions had served their temporary purpose, to cast them aside for new imaginings. He knocked on the doorframe. "Something is sure to arise in the course of the investigation, of which I can take advantage. Keeping hold of the doorhandle, she turned slowly.
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