Chapter 31

Yet when I fell to stroking the white hand again those eyes of burning blue were no longer on my face, but were staring up with a more meditative light in their depths, with a faint frown of introspection furrowing the golden brows above them. And I knew as I looked at them that they were now asking a second question, a question which, had it been put into words, could only have been: “Who am I?” That problem seemed too deep for their probing, for after a time they closed again, slowly and wearily, and I knew by th…