“I thought I was just up against Morningside Park and father, but it’s the whole order of things—the whole blessed order of things. Sheila, a normally sound sleeper, woke one night to find both her husband and her foster daughter had snuck from their beds, and this infuriated her. Sepulchre's. Giving him a wide berth, and keeping her pistol high, she made her way to the door and warily peered through it. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. Lost me place, that’s all.
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