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And when she went to sleep, then always Capes became the novel and wonderful guest of her dreams. ’ ‘Well, she didn’t walk through the walls, that’s certain,’ said Hilary acidly. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality. Melusine tapped on it. Then one old crone, short-sighted and shaky-handed, called Ann Veronica “dearie,” and made some remark, obscure and slangy, of which the spirit rather than the words penetrated to her understanding. She spied him sitting on his armless black couch, his feet splayed as he stared at his television blankly. He glanced at it, and saw the bloodied blade. She could smell the savory tinge of his sweat in the air. They thought that she was her own mother.
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