The raw, heavy scent of the Eastern drug was still with him, and, for a while, he was certain he saw pale aureoles of light, witching globes of fire bobbing in the dark. Then, as his head began to clear, the lights quickly faded away. That other vision, though, would not go away, and, in truth, he made no effort to erase it from his mind. The image of DeFloraine-Marie had nothing to do with endearment and love, but only of lust and desire. To deny that he could have such feelings would be a pointless lie. And the other figure there, the one she ran to, who might that be? There was no question that she had, indeed, hurried to him and quickly accepted his embrace. He told himself he was merely curious, that it wasn't his concern. Still, he could not deny that he resented her actions, her willing consent. It was not a vision he could quickly forget. FINDING THE PROPER PASSAGE SEEMED A NEAR-hopeless task. The Bullie's directions had long since scrambled in his head. All he could do was guess, sniff the flow of air at each dark entry, and imagine where it led.
