Where her husband saw only two youngsters in the mating mood, she felt that tragedy in some phase lurked in this room—if only in the loneliness of these two, without kith or kin apparently, thousands of miles from home. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. She had suddenly become as the jewels of the Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach, sacred. Taber," said the manager.
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