“It is a hateful story. It tore her apart. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. Joyous, she felt the need of physical expression; and her body began to sway sinuously, to glide and turn and twist about the room. The decision had been sound. ‘Signed by a priest at Le Havre, so it must be true. ToC The ward into which Jack was endeavouring to break was called the Red Room, from the circumstance of its walls having once been painted in that colour; all traces of which had, however, long since disappeared.
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