Roddy muffed two. E. He's a nice boy, a good student. 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. She seemed to be making some sort of inventory. But Melusine’s own words had thrown an idea into her head. The room in which this interview took place had a sordid and miserable look. She traveled through back yards and quiet side streets on her way home, careful to avoid the main thoroughfares, fraught as they were with people in cars who would recognize her person or notice her dress. She was quite oblivious to the sensation she had created. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided.
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