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. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. There's our young friend upstairs. Before leaving the place he looked upwards, and could just discern the blue vault and pale stars of Heaven through an iron grating at the top. Go and live somewhere else. He rose, steadied himself, then walked out of the dining room.
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