His only warning was a gleam of silver in the faint spill of light from the house above. But ——” A look checked him. From the centre of the ceiling hung a replica of the temple lamp in the Taj Mahal. ” “No. ’ ‘It’s no use you being superior,’ said Roding severely. You are the High Priestess of Life. Occasionally the canvas snapped as the wind veered slightly. The door leaned inward. Buried under various ancestral sixteenths, smothered under modern thought, liberty of action and bewildering variety of flesh-pots, it was still alive to the extent that it needed only his present state to resuscitate it in all its peculiar force. Nothing like the direct approach, she thought. .
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