Chapter Thirty-TwoThe Rest Of The Story
Tim woke up to a day that was bright and clear and cold. The sea lay an untroubled blue outside the bedroom windows and, for a moment, the night’s events seemed but the evanescing blur of an evil dream. Sybil’s dark head was beside him on the pillow and, as he looked at her with sleepy relief, her eyes opened, puzzled at first, then gradually content. They were still a bit bleary, though, and her face was pasty.
“Am I really here?” she asked.
“Yes, dear,” said Tim.
“Did somebody knock? Or did I dream it?”
A light tap sounded on the door.
“Somebody knocked, I guess,” said Tim. He raised his voice. “Who is it?”
“Me,” came the familiar Barrelforth boom. “I’ve brought you slug-a-beds some coffee.”
The door opened and the President of the New Jers
