Cuckoo Bright, she had
divined the evil of Valentine. To her he had made confession. In her
eyes Julian had seen the mysterious flame. Some influence from her had
kept him from his invited guests and from his house. Yes, Cuckoo, the
lady of the feathers, the blessed damozel of Regent Street and Piccadilly
Circus, the painted and possessed, faded and degraded, wanderer of the
pavements, seemed to become the centre of this wheel of circumstances,
as Doctor Levillier reflected upon her.
It was time for him to go to Cuckoo. Julian's descent must be stayed,
before he went down, like a new Orpheus without a mission, into Hades.
Valentine's influence, whether mad or sane, must be fought. It was to be
a struggle, a battle of wills, of what Valentine chose to consider souls.
And some prompting led the doctor to think of Cuckoo as a possible
weapon. Why? Because she had even once held Julian against his will,
against the intention of his soul.
So the doctor at length sought the lady of the feathers. She had been
passing through a period of great and benumbing desolation, believing
that her last appeal, her great effort for Julian, had been a failure.
For the doctor had not come to her, and Cuckoo could not tell that he
was making observations for himself and that she was often in his mind.
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