It shone as though this were a day like another and nothing had happened to distinguish it from its fellows.
“Wouldn’t you like to lie down?” said Waddington when they entered the bungalow.
“No. I’ll sit at the window.”
She had sat at the window so often and so long during the weeks that had passed and her eyes now were so familiar with the fantastic, garish, beautiful and mysterious temple on its great bastion that it rested her spirit. It was so unreal, even in the crude light of midday, that it withdrew her from the reality of life.
“I’ll get the boy to make you some tea. I’m afraid it will be necessary to bury him this morning. I’ll make all arrangements.”
“Thank you.”
lxv
THEY buried him three hours later. It seemed horrible to Kitty that he must be put into a Chinese coffin, as though in so strange a bed he must rest uneasily, but there was no help for it. The nuns, learning of Walter’s death as they learned everything that happened in the city, sent by a messenger a cross of dahlias, stiff and formal, but made as though by the accustomed hands of a florist; and the cross, alone on the Chinese coffin, looked grotesque and out of place. When all was ready they had to wait for Colonel Yü who had sent to Wad-
