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Not a moment is to be lost. On these were thrown all the horrible contents of Jonathan's museum, together with the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard. She gazed steadily out of the window at that arc of glittering lights. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted. For hours he seemed to have pleasant dreams of open skies and airplanes, but then the dreams would disintegrate into fleshy charnel house nightmares where he could hear her calling to him through a fog. Meantime, as the doctor was splitting his breakfast orange, he heard a commotion in his office, two rooms removed: volleys of pidgin English, one voice in protest, the other dominant. She rose from her chair, and began walking up and down the room restlessly. Even the chattering monkeys, parrots, and parrakeets departed the fruit groves for the smelly dark of the jungle.
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