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CHAPTER XLThe months went on, and seemed to me tocreep as blind worms creep, and to do no moregood than they to any living soul.AU these months she had shut herself in thestudio of her tower, not stirring out, and onlybreathing the fresher ah- of night from oneof herbarred casements, when the sun was setting, orthe stars had come out from the dark blue ofRoman skies. For me,Istitched at my stall,and Pales, growing older,slept more, and grewmoresharp of tooth and temper; and there weremany changes amongst my neighbours, right andleft, and many marriage groups went by, andmany biers;but nothing touched memuch, andaUIcared to think of was of her,my Ariadne.One clay— it might perhaps be six or seven