And there was another matter. Cathy sighed. Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture. Your adoptive father understands mankind better. He rang the doorbell, even though she had already cracked the door for him. “Does a bear shit in the woods?” He said. “Do you mean, aunt,” she asked, “that my father thought I had gone off—with some man?” “What else COULD he think? Would any one DREAM you would be so mad as to go off alone?” “After—after what had happened the night before?” “Oh, why raise up old scores? If you could see him this morning, his poor face as white as a sheet and all cut about with shaving! He was for coming up by the very first train and looking for you, but I said to him, ‘Wait for the letters,’ and there, sure enough, was yours. On the way home he was still thoughtful. Easy enough to look as if one rides away. "It's better," observed Sheppard, meaningly. Kevin Chen, Martin’s father, was equally stately, his dark brown eyes bright with the fire of extreme intelligence.
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