The primitive superstition of his Puritan forbears was his; and before this the buckler of his education disintegrated. Do you know the story of Orpheus? He was a musician who followed his damned wife into Hell to bring her back? He was one of us, I believe. On the mantelpiece in front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel’s handwriting. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown.
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