Maggot held up a lantern, which she found in the shop. He savored the last solo, the coda. Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified. And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune. As he stood upon the bridge, he held down the light, and looked into the profound abyss.
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