"_That's_ what suits them, and
what all of them are worth!"
She brushed the strings again: and if Farrell made any sound at all,
the buzz of them covered it. He had brought the glasses to bear on
the beach.
Santa started to thrum on the lower strings. Farrell swung about
suddenly, set the glasses down, and walked back into the dismantled
house.
Now so far I have evidence for all I'm telling you. From this point
for thirty seconds or so, I am going to guess what happened.
Santa went on thrumming. She heard his footsteps on the bare floor
as he went through the echoing, dismantled room behind her.
She heard them on the brick of the broad passage which separated the
living-rooms of the bungalow from its bed-chambers. She heard him
lift the latch of the outer door. She heard the outer door shut
behind him. Then she waited for his footsteps to sound again on the
sunken pathway which ran downhill beside her patch of garden, hidden
by the cactus fence--or rather, deep below it. "He is standing on
the doorstep," she said to herself, "lighting a cigarette"; and then,
"but he is a long while about it.
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