” “I am coming with you,” he said firmly. She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. Nothing like the direct approach, she thought. At every step he seemed to be haunted by the ghost of the past. Gay," he added, turning to the poet. Shari proceeded to paint, brush, dust, slather, and blot Lucy’s face with makeup.
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