“NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket. He uttered a short laugh. Lucia confined herself to her quarters, wondering when they would flee to the country as so many other houses had done. She would be enduing this chap with attributes he did not possess, clothing him in fictional ruffles. “How shall I put the question? What am I? What have I got to do with myself?. ” He shook his head. The man’s statement was explicit, and spoken with confidence. The hour for which, presumably, she had been created was drawing nigh. Anna was afterwards astonished at her own selfpossession. What else was there lurked in shadows and deep places; if in some mood of reverie it came out into the light, it was presently overwhelmed and hustled back again into hiding. The threadbare remainders of the dinner discussion hovered over the topics of obsessive fans of the science fiction and horror genres. 8. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. Sheila had dropped glaring hints that she knew, which Chuck tacitly acknowledged with a lowered gaze.
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