There were dark rims under her eyes, soft now with unshed tears. The island had evidently grown round this lagoon, approached it gradually from the volcanic upheaval—an island of coral and lava. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. “Yes?” “You remember once, how we talked—at a gate on the Downs? We talked about how a girl might get an independent living. “Nothing was ever done,” Miss Brett asserted, “without a certain element of Faith. . Kneebone. “Can you come out tonight?” “Um, sure, I guess. But days had now passed.
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