She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. She slept in a bedroom clad in linens and skins, walked down hallways bedecked in the most gay and colorful frescos. Her straight strawberry blonde hair was exactly Cathy’s. "Don't leave him, if you're at all fearful, my dear," replied Wood, receiving the little burthen with a laugh. He had done this a dozen times on the way from his office. “It may be more difficult than you think,” she said. The rest of the crowd followed suit with weak laughter.
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