She slipped out the window, jumping to the ground from the second story with very little sound. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged. A momentary petrifaction, and terror had lent wings to her feet. He did not speak for a moment. And so —’ ‘And so she was able to become my—’ Melusine did not say it, for wet-nurse no longer seemed appropriate. She tipped his mouth towards her own and kissed him. He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. ‘And I’d like to know what the devil—’ ‘Out of town?’ repeated Melusine, stupefied. ‘Trespasses,’ supplied Gerald. 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.
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