‘Ah, yes? To what do I pretend?’ ‘That,’ Gerald said regretfully, ‘I have not yet been able to fathom. Beneath the shelf, containing these books, hung the fine old ballad of 'St. Lucy entered the house by picking the back door lock with the slim jim. The way it had happened was stupid, absurd. But if you do not leave this room I must. "Here, wife—hostess—fetch me that bottle from the second shelf in the corner cupboard. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying.
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