Part 5 The next morning she waited in the laboratory at the lunch-hour in the reasonable certainty that he would come to her. Each morning his inquiry was properly answered: the patient was steadily improving, but none could say when he would be strong enough to proceed upon his journey. She had even played in an opera by Verdi once, but had to dress as a boy to do it. Where's the dining room? And, say, can I have some eggs? This jam-tea breakfast gets my goat. The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling and swooping about her head, there among the wild plantain.
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