Ince remained unaware of their flute-like thrummings and of all else including the multitudinous scents permeating from the garden below and the exquisite mellowness of the very air which circled through our rooms seeming to lift the already high ceiling where above me harmless fairies traced in gentle hues danced below the sacred river.
        She had entered and gone directly to the open doors where she stood staring out, and remained staring out, motionless, silent, rigid, locked.
        I left the mirror. Moving to the center of the room I sank upon a mound of large silken pillows and lifted a green fruit. It smelled fresh, sweet. "Would you like a perryn fruit, rider?" I wanted to rouse her and to plumb her. Though I didn't expect her to turn, she did. Her slate eyes were very dark as she attempted to come from her thoughts. Light reflecting up from the floor touched portions with deep blue. I lifted the smooth green fruit toward her. "Would you like a perryn? It's perfectly ripe."
        She shook her head. After a hesitation she came to sit across from me upon an umber couch.