Art had so looked forward to being on this side of the Divide, but this room seemed disappointed in itself, as if, confronted with real life, it had chosen to retreat behind the tabs and settle for make-believe.

Above them in the rafters, birds made their entrances and exits, building their nests with strips of canvas taken from the great masters. There were framed pictures on every level, yet everywhere, a sense of sham and the musty smell of backstage.

Perhaps he had misjudged it all. Perhaps, by some clever theatrical device, the whole thing would suddenly make sense. But when Gilbert finally emerged from behind a flimsy door, it did nothing to reassure him.