A piece of seaweed touched her hand, tender and green. Perhaps I am still mad. It wailed at Lucy, chubby arms reaching towards her, pleading. Hoddy! All her fears fell away. “I think they do. I cannot turn into a bat. And I passed myself off as Meysey Hill, and since—then—I haven’t had a minute’s peace. It remains a bizarre idea to me that Lucy Alberti could ever become so detailed or so real, but I’m certainly glad to have made her acquaintance. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered.
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