“O, the window is a picture; it is fine,” I reply enlightened.
“Is it like your people that go in ships?”
“They must be the last explorers whom Savant found. How I wish I could rescue them and bring them into Arc.”
“Did you say this is a library, where are the books?”
She presses on the picture frame; it changes as a part advances, opens and is a book. The back was part of the picture. It is Savant’s story in pictured writing and quite enlists my sympathy. Seeing me tearful she takes me outside and leaves me in a shrubbery plot, while I attempt to compose my features.
Hearing a sob from someone else close by, I am upset again and weep in sympathy. I peer through the low-lying branches and see Robet in a mossy nook, giving way to hysterical bitterness, her hands over her face.
Now, two other hands pull them away to give her view of the laughing face of Show Off. She pushes him off spitefully. Partly losing his balance, he settles back on his heels, still laughing, seeing which with her toe she completes his overthrow and leaves him in the moss as she continues unconstrained her grief.
Show Off picks himself up sobered and looks around for other occupation. I do also view the surroundings. I perceive this building is over the river. Before I salute Robet, she arises and stamps away.
Passing my retreat I hear her moan:
“You are lost, O my darling.”