Marc got up, closed the door and flicked the latch. He stopped, glanced around at the room. It was some sort of inner chamber, resplendent of leather and polished wood, a place of durability and hard surfaces, lighted by a large brass lamp standing on an enormous oak desk. At the far end of the room a door stood ajar, opening onto a hallway which pointed the direction of the judge's recent escape. Marc crossed to it and closed and locked it.
"Well," Toffee said, perching herself lightly on the corner of the desk. "This is more like it. Private."
Marc turned wearily from the door. "Just leave me alone," he sighed. "Just let me sit down somewhere and relax. This is the first time in almost twenty-four hours that I haven't had someone at my heels trying to kill me."
"Poor Marc," Toffee said. "You do need a rest."
Marc started across the room toward a large leather-covered chair. He was nearly there when he caught his foot in the lamp cord and fell.
Even as he struck the floor he was aware of the crazy see-saw flashes of light traveling up and down the wall. It wasn't until he rolled over, however, that he saw the lamp teetering precariously on the edge of the desk just above his head. He started to cry out, but before he could force the sound to his lips the lamp slipped beyond the edge and plunged downward. It seemed to explode in his face....
It grew out of the darkness, a place of familiar beauty. The light came slowly like the first faint tracings of dawn, etching the gentle slopes, the intricate, clustered outline of the forest.
Marc looked around at Toffee who was sitting beside him on the rise of the knoll. In the glowing half-light she was beautiful beyond words.
"I ought to break your thick skull," she said. "Will you never learn to pick up those huge feet of yours?"