He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. He had known she would be shocked, but he was equally certain Melusine would have refused to see her grandfather had she been forewarned. “He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know. . She breathed into a cloth soaked in rose oil as Sebastian had prescribed, but the smell of roses mixed obscenely with the smell of death and decay, causing her to retch. The mother, Cathy Beck, was as patient and as charitable of an individual that Lucy had ever known, a big kindly Polish-American woman with the heart of an angel. And even she was forced to admit to herself that this last resource of hers was a slender reed on which to lean. behind the Laundromat.
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