Page:Storm Over Paris.pdf/51

The bed springs creaked. She held her breath. Soma went on sleeping; his breathing was quieter. Stepping on tiptoe she made her way to the door, her eyes fixed on the sleeping man. "Sleep," she whispered. "Sleep soundly.”

She turned the knob. The red lampshade trembled slightly. One more look, a last look, and Anna was at the other side of the door. The corridor was dark. "Escape, escape!" her raw nerves urged her. "Never, never to return." She hurried down the stairs, called persistently until the concierge opened the doors, and blundered into the street, dazed and doused in a welter of contradictory emotions.

The night air enveloped her burning flesh like a cool linen sheet. Hurriedly she crossed the street, walked swiftly through the narrow alley that opened onto it, until she reached the Boulevard Richard le Noir. Here she drew a deep breath and looked about her. No one was around. She huddled down into the corner of a bench.

From her creased skirt came an evil smell. "Oh, God," she murmured. High in the heavens twinkled the stars. Bright stars twinkling, twinkling in a dark sky. . . It seemed to her that she was seeing the world for the first time-beautiful in its vast emptiness. Feeling intensely the nearness of God, she closed her eyes, cuddled up like a helpless moth, tiny, voiceless, singed and torn...