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Nothing could have been farther from Melusine’s mind. “I don’t know, John, but I think there is something going on with Michelle. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. The blue jaws suggested courage and tenacity. She dragged the broken bottle across her carotid artery, creating an inch-deep gash upon her throat. I suppose you will think me very unsisterly and cold-hearted, but there are circumstances in connexion with my sister’s latest exploit which are intensely irritating both to my husband and to myself. It wound around a small manufactured lake. Brendon and I are great chums,” he went on nervously. One doesn’t realize that even the sort of civilization one has at Morningside Park is held together with difficulty. “You yourself have decided that—apart from the question of Annabel.
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