When she awoke she felt as if she were adrift on a soft cloud through a golden sky. 47 was no more than a sort of railway compartment on the way to that. This became very interesting. She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life. His pipe hung dead in his teeth, but the smoke was dense about him. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all.
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