He could not see these two shrinking misses capering about in a nun’s habit and brandishing a defiant pistol. If he stayed in the basement apartment as was his usual habit, she would have no problem. He savored the last solo, the coda. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. She flared her upper lip, baring her canines which had extended by half an inch. ’ Baring his teeth in a smile of triumph that was every bit an animal snarl, and leaping up onto the seat of the pew he was in, he jumped hazardously to the next.
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