95 The officer showed her into the sleepy suburban police station, a hub of inactivity on Sunday night except for herself and a slightly drunk woman who had been brought in for DUI. Don’t think it was anything better than fever—or a bit beautiful. She receded into the entryway, opening her palm and gesturing as if there were an imaginary red carpet rolled out for visitors. ‘Grace à dieu, he breathes still. She was about to rush to his side, when she saw his clenched hands rise and fall upon the sand repeatedly. Our ideal had fallen. ‘The secret passage!’ It did not take long to find the mechanism of the candlesconce that opened the door.
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