George had been standing with his friends beside the pavilion, silently
watching the festival reach its height. The bell tolled; the masks and
cloaks were discarded. A bevy of nymphs draped in flowing gauze came
dashing out. As they passed, one of them caught George by the arm,
pulling him along a few steps; her eyes, half hidden by her tumbling
hair, mocked him provocatively.
He jerked away. A tide of other figures flowed from the pavilion,
following the nymphs to the beach. George fought his way back, seeking
to rejoin his friends; in that crowd they could get lost so easily.
He was looking about, wondering just where they had been standing
before, when he saw Dee. Her white cloak had fallen from her head to her
shoulders. She was standing alone, apparently lost in reverie.