I did not instantly rise. I stared at her. "YOU!" I said.
She looked at me steadily. "Me," she said
I did not trouble about any civilities. I stood up and asked point blank
a question that came into my head.
"Whose horse is that?" I said.
She looked me in the eyes. "Carnaby's," she answered.
"How did you get here--this way?"
"The wall's down."
"Down? Already?"
"A great bit of it between the plantations."
"And you rode through, and got here by chance?"
"I saw you yesterday. And I rode over to see you." I had now come close
to her, and stood looking up into her face.
"I'm a mere vestige," I said.
She made no answer, but remained regarding me steadfastly with a curious
air of proprietorship.
"You know I'm the living survivor now of the great smash. I'm rolling
and dropping down through all the scaffolding of the social system....
It's all a chance whether I roll out free at the bottom, or go down a
crack into the darkness out of sight for a year or two."
"The sun," she remarked irrelevantly, "has burnt you.
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