’ ‘How do you do?’ Gerald said pleasantly, stepping from the pillared portico and coming down the shallow stairway. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. The thought did not occur to her, for all thought had flown out of her head. There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remembered. Like a nightmare memory that returned again and again to haunt her. “Your brother has gone?” she asked Sydney, between the courses. Walking into the bedroom, she quickly shed the miniskirt and sweater, folding them without ceremony. Her foster parents had attended the concert in their finest clothes, Cathy in a new JC Penney dress, Larry in a suit that was too small. Cathy Beck was terribly upset and was on the verge of exploding. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. Now, will you stand aside?" "I won't," answered Jack, obstinately. On the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace. "Aha!" exclaimed Jackson.
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