EPILOGUEINGRID
Dartmouth—August, 1945
When Berg saw the little car in the shadow of the hedge by the white gate, he stopped. He turned and looked back to the spot where Clovis’s body was lying at the foot of the tree.
He felt very little—certainly not regret. But somewhere there was a vague feeling of disappointment. He shrugged his shoulders. He could not work out exactly what this feeling meant; but then, he thought, he had never been awfully good at working out things to do with the mind. Sometimes you felt something. Sometimes an odd thing made you feel a little happy or sad. But most of the time you went on, because it wasn’t too good to feel too happy or too sad. If you felt anything very much you were disappointed.
He got into the car and started the engine. He began to drive sl
