She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. Leaving the library by the same door she had first used to enter it earlier that day, she crossed the two little antechambers and moved on through the rooms. Clotilde pried Fritz from Lucy’s left leg where he was clinging. They sucked face and felt each other up, or something. “But—your people!” she gasped. The Scotchman informed Ann Veronica that your view of beauty necessarily depended on your metaphysical premises, and the young man with the Russell-like hair became anxious to distinguish himself by telling the Japanese student that Western art was symmetrical and Eastern art asymmetrical, and that among the higher organisms the tendency was toward an external symmetry veiling an internal want of balance. Let me keep you from that man’s clutches. Traps, set with peculiar cunning; she had encountered them everywhere. He said the place had gone to wrack. To find the incentive! But how? Thither and yon the idea roved, seeking the way. He sent me home.
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