The salt air was fresher than the stale air in the manor. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy. Whenever Ah Cum (whose normal stride was sufficient to keep him at the side of her chair) pointed out something of interest, she had to strain the cords in her neck to focus her glance upon the object. ’ Joan sniffed. The worst was over now. ‘I assure you it was mutual.
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