The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. Melusine was silent, revolving this outcome in her mind as she stared at Roding, who was frowning at her in a puzzled way. In nearly every speech she heard was the same implication of great and necessary changes in the world—changes to be won by effort and sacrifice indeed, but surely to be won. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. It is extraordinary. The attempt was unsuccessful. They don’t know who did it, actually.
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