"Also my husband can find it," the woman broke in. "Let the streets do their will with the woman of the streets. Bread and shelter are too precious to waste on the iniquitous this hour."
Amaryllis turned to Laodice.
"What wilt thou do?" she asked.
"The streets can offer me no more insult than is offered me in this house," she said slowly.
It was in her mind that there were certainly unprotected gates at which she could get out of the city and return to Ascalon.
At least the peril for her in this house was already too imminent for her to remain longer. She continued to Amaryllis:
"Lady, you have been kind to me–in your way. You have been so in the face of your doubt that I am what I claim to be. How happy, then, you would have made my lot had I not been supplanted and denied! For all this I thank you. Mine would be a poor gratitude if I stay to make you regret your generosity. Wherefore I will go."
She slipped past the three and entered her room. Before Amaryllis could gather resolution to protest, she was out again, clothed in mantle and vitta and, walking swiftly, disappeared into the vestibule. As they sat in the darkening hall, the three heard the doors close behind her.
"She will return," said Philadelphus coolly, moving away.
Gathering her robes about her, Salome swept out of the corridor and away. Amaryllis stood alone.