Chapter EighteenKatharine woke with the night turning towards day. It was the hour when even a great city is quiet—a still hour, but not dark, because the sky was clear. Somewhere behind all those houses the moon was going down. From where she lay she could see the tracery of leafless trees above the roofline over the way. The trees were in the garden of Rasselas House. They were old, and tall, and beautiful. She looked at them now and was at peace. The window was open and a soft air came in. She turned a little. On the other side of Carol’s wide, low bed William was very deeply asleep. One of his hands was tucked under the pillow, the other lay across his chest. She had to listen to catch the quiet, even breathing. If she put out her own hand it would touch him. But her thought could not
