But she no longer obsessed over heresy, no longer did she feel cursed by God. She had carried a chair into the room veranda and had watched and listened until the night silences had lengthened and only occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshaw wheels in the courtyard. The street was deserted, no pedestrian school-goers walked immediately in front or behind them. Jack was lying so still, for a moment she panicked. She walked for a mile or more recklessly, close veiled, with swift level footsteps, though her brain was in a whirl and a horrible faintness all the time hovered about her. She was nude and horribly maimed. The curtain before one mystery was torn aside, and she saw in reality what lay behind the impulse that had led her into the young man's room. It was Blueskin.
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