“Twelve thousand furlongs,” Laura was murmuring. She raised her voice. “What else, Nursie?”
“Oh, there’s fountains and parrots and stalls with joolry—that brooch of mine come from there—” (it was a sham moonstone that Laura and Nurse agreed in thinking superb) “and gardens something lovely. Orange trees, my mother said, and trees with tulips on ’em.”
She was thinking of magnolias, but Laura, lover of flowers, drew a deep breath, thrilling to a vision of the tallest tree on Beech Hill parti-coloured to its topmost twig with the tulips you buy in shops, long-stemmed, scarlet and purple, half a crown a dozen.
“Oh, Nurse!! And was there a river, Nurse?”
“Oh, yes—runs right through the grounds, with animals on the islands—what d’you call ’em—antiluviums—awful-looking beasts. Gave my mother the creeps, they did.”
Laura nodded, but she was not impressed. She knew them. She and Christian had known them in the Valley of the Shadow and had taken no harm. Yet to assure herself she asked——
“What are they like? Is it difficult to get past them?”
“Why, Miss Laura, they’re not real beasts. On’y stone. Just antiluviums. Sort of stone dragons, you know.”
“Oh, I see.” Laura nodded again as one enlightened. She was acquainted with the Dragon, too, and the Beast; had met them at church.... They were bound for a thousand years.... Turning into stone was a very good way of binding them.... She gave a great sigh of content. It was simply wonderful how everything fitted in....
I beg your pardon, Collaborator? You think it curious that the conversation should have been such a satisfaction to her?