but each time she managed to steady herself. She kept
going, breathing quickly, her hands scratched and
bleeding slightly, her knees and back aching.
When she reached the top she sat down, panting, and
stared back the way she had come. From here the climb
looked dizzyingly steep, and she wondered how she had
had the nerve to attempt it—and also how she was to get
down! Then she shrugged. Sufficient unto the day was the
evil thereof...
She found Peter lying on his face, stretched flat out, the
only part of him which moved his hand, which was
delicately scraping at the dusty covering of soil which lay
everywhere over the ruins.
He turned his head to squint at her as she approached,
and, without a sign of surprise or enquiry, said, “Careful!
I’ve begun marking out the ground plan with string. Don’t
trip over it or you’ll pull out the pegs and I’ll have it all to
do again.”
“You’ve been busy,” she commented, staring around
her.
The site was laid out on a flattish plateau, in a
vaguely rectangular shape, with three broad stone steps
running all the way around the building. The roof had
been supported by the usual pillars, some of which still
stood, in more or less battered condition, rearing up
towards the open blue sky, tapering to their plain
capitals, their stone flaking away along the sides. Blocks
of stone lay everywhere, among the wiry grass and
yellow flowers. It was touching to Kate to see how the
stone steps were hollowed out by generations of reverent