She brought her hands up to her head and ripped out two long chunks of her hair, pulling out shreds of scalp. It goes to my heart to disappoint you, but this thing must not be. ‘Deaf? Deaf? I’ll have you know, miss—’ ‘Do not have me know anything,’ interrupted Melusine crossly, and digging into her habit, produced the fateful dagger that had cut Gerald’s hand. ‘Silence,’ he warned again, with a prod of the dagger at her heart. She could not risk going in the door, lest she run into Larry or Cathy drinking a nocturnal glass of milk or Mike raiding the refrigerator for snacks. What lends a tragic mockery to all these tender traps of hers was that she was within lawful bounds. “How are you feeling?” She asked. I don’t think they do matter.
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