‘Tell me the truth, Melusine. There was hope for me then. Lucia confined herself to her quarters, wondering when they would flee to the country as so many other houses had done. She imagined herself on a barren 41 plain, post-Apocalypse, convulsing, waiting to die with the cockroach. Little by little the pool cleared, the whims vanished: so that both Ruth and the doctor, by the middle of the third week, began to accept Spurlock's actions as normal, whereas there was still a mote or two which declined to settle, still a kink in the gray matter that refused to straighten out. And, turning at the touch, he perceived Sheppard's glance fixed meaningly upon him. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. I borrowed forty pounds from Mr.
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