But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. He climbed on top of her, pressing her into the couch cushions, the gown billowing around them like a cotton candy parachute. It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. "Shall I fetch the light, Captain?" whispered Blueskin.
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