’ ‘Ah, but there’s the little matter of your presence here,’ said Gerald on a note of apology. He had found her in a communicative mood, and he used the accumulated skill of years in turning that to account. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald. "So has the butterfly evil thoughts. ” Surprisingly she did show up to meet him that night, arriving at exactly 1:16 a. Suddenly he understood what had happened. It was she who felt guilty as he showed her their bedroom, smelling her perfume, ingesting their psychic leftovers. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure.
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