She gaped at its keep, at least ten feet tall, a frightening gray coffin turned upright. “An Oracle is a predictor of the future. She refused to accept her fate, but what is it that she could do about it? Night after night she invented alternatives. “I should think YOU could do all sorts of things. She took up the poker and stirred the fire vigorously. Stanley, putting his hands on the table in the manner rather of a barrister than a solicitor, and regarding her balefully through his glasses with quite undisguised animosity, asked, “And may I presume to inquire, then, what you mean to do?—how do you propose to live?” “I shall live,” sobbed Ann Veronica. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. Ennison had disappeared.
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