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She asked no further questions for the moment. And here he was, but a hundred yards away, this wastrel who trailed his genius through the mud. Ann Veronica surveyed his sloping back for a moment, and then drew her microscope toward her. ’ ‘Yes, it’s all my fault,’ he agreed soothingly, ‘and you may rail at me presently as much as you please. ‘Tell me the truth, Melusine. I can’t even make myself care. The bleach had ruined it, with yellow-orange streaks invading the frizzy white that cascaded in wavy tendrils coated with greasy hairspray. Surely he was imagining this picture. Come every day to see you was flourishing. I am gambling on his intuition. Not about girls that I date. On some insane score she fancied she had to state her case in verse. She had fallen asleep on the wooden bed, uncaring of lice or bedbugs.

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