"As sure as one reasonably can be. And for me there is only one treasure-house. Was there ever such madness?” “I am afraid that I don’t understand,” Ennison answered. It was her past now, not Annabel’s. She was ashamed of herself for the simple gladness she felt wash over her as the infant’s screams ended. “I forbid it!” she said firmly. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. “Why did you dare to do that?” Part 3 Each of them stared at the other, set in a universe that had changed its system of values with kaleidoscopic completeness. She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato. I’ve been thinking, you know—I’m not sure that primarily the perception of beauty isn’t just intensity of feeling free from pain; intensity of perception without any tissue destruction. Ralph.
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