And against this
changelessness she knew herself changed. She was outside of it now.
It could never prison her again.
While she drank Li Ho's coffee, Dr. Farr had come in. He had been
told, she supposed, of her return, for he showed no surprise at
seeing her--had greeted her absently--and sat for a time without
speaking, his long hands folded about the green umbrella. This, too,
was familiar and added to the "yesterday" feeling. He had not
changed. It was her attitude toward him which was different. The
curious fear of him, which she had hidden under a mask of
indifference, was no longer there to hide. Even the fact of his
relationship had lost its sharp significance. She was done with the
thing which had made it poignant. Parentage no longer mattered. So
little mattered now.
She had spoken to him cheerfully, ignoring his mood, and he had
replied irritably, like a bad-tempered child who resents some
unnecessary claim upon its attention. But she did not observe him
closely. Had she done so, she might have noticed a curious glazing
of the eyes as they lifted to follow her--shining and depthless like
blue steel.
"I do not expect to stay long, father," she told him. "Only until I
find something to do. I am a woman now, you know, and must support
myself."
She spoke as one might speak to a child, and he had nodded and
mumbled: "Yes, yes . . . a woman now . . . certainly." Then he had
begun to laugh. She had always hated this silent, shaking laugh of
his.
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